That Much Red
by shadesofmidnightsun
Summary: Everything was fine, and then New York fell apart. Rebecca lost what little family she had left and survived purely on coincidence, and she didn't know what happened, but there was pain, and favoures to be returned, and his eyes were so green and so dark. How should she find the truth if it never existed? Loki/OC (but still with lots of Stark, if that counts? )
1. Chapter 1: Approaching Dusk

A/N: Actually, I ship Frostiron like crazy, but this story somehow wanted to be Loki/OC (it might have something to do with the fact the idea had started growing in my mind before I saw the Avengers and started shipping Fristiron ...But I do have a Frostiron story written, too). There is quite some Stark in it, though. As for the OC ... Well, it's hard to say. I've seen like a gazillion of stories where the OC is something special, e.g. special powers, mysterious past, no memories, at least a SHIELD agent ... And I just wanted to let a normal, random girl/woman end up in the whole Avengers-mess, somebody who is there solely by coincidence and has no clue whatsoever, only what little she'd manages to see. Something like that.

Maybe I should mention I've seen another story somewhere out there where the OC has the same first name and almost the same job, but I swear I didn't copy it, I had the idea before seeing the other fic. I don't know what that story is about; I haven't read it on purpose, so if there somehow happens to be something similar, well, not my fault.

What else ... If something seems OOC, it's quite possible it will get explained later. I hope. I also hope you'll forgive me grammatical mistakes (I'm not a native speaker ...).

I don't own anything, picture included, except for my OCs.

* * *

**Chapter I—Approaching Dusk**

_Was the site once of a city great and gay, _

_(So they say) _

_Of our country's very capital, its prince _

_Ages since _

_Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far _

_Peace or war_

_Was the site once of a city great and gay, _

_(So they say) _

_Of our country's very capital, its prince _

_Ages since _

_Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far _

_Peace or war. _

_Was the site once of a city great and gay,  
(So they say)  
Of our country's very capital, its prince  
Ages since  
Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far  
Peace or war._

_~Robert Burns: Love Among the Ruins_

Rebecca could smell fire. Her fear intensified, but she didn't look for flames; there was no time. She heard her own heart hammer past echoing screams, and explosions, and crashes of collapsing buildings. People were teeming like a swarm of bees, only there was no order, just panic dictating their movements. She cursed when she bumped into somebody yet again, staggered, and continued to run, but couldn't blame them; she, too, was just one of the panicked creatures.

The burn in her lungs barely registered. She squinted over her shoulder, expecting another energy blast every moment, then plastered her back against the nearest wall when she saw no immediate threat. She shook her phone furiously, willing it to turn on, _begging_ it to turn on, hoping there was an extra percent of energy left somewhere in the stupid battery that had chosen the worst possible moment to die. But, there wasn't.

She ran.

She didn't quite understand what was happening. These… These aliens had come out of nowhere, sending Manhattan into the air and its residents into frenzy. She only knew she was running the wrong way, towards the chaos instead of away from it—the stream of people had told her so much—but what could she do?

She had to meet her sister and Dean, and now that her phone had died she had no way of changing the location and could only hope they'd be there. In wasn't far anymore. There—she could see the Starbucks sign already.

An extra burst of energy spurred her tired legs. She dashed forward, already there, already pressing her palms against the glass—the only thing that was separating her from Leah—relief already taking over, when her sister screamed. Her voice barely reached Rebecca's ears, but the letter knew it was her name on those lips, and Leah's terror-wide eyes made her turn around—

To see one of those flying things approaching the coffee shop with dangerous speed. Adrenalin, only having her survival in mind, took over, and she half jumped half staggered away, though still looking back, and her eyes landed on a short-ish man, clad in black, who was standing some thirty feet away. The arrow he shot was too fast to see; her mind had reached the conclusion only from seeing his bow and his movements.

The alien ship turned to fly parallel with the buildings, inches away from where she'd been standing, coming towards her.

The arrow hit.

Nothing happened.

Rebecca's jaw was locked tight with fear.

Then—

The arrow exploded.

A raw scream worked its way out of her throat. She was thrown backwards, but she still saw the ship explode and crash into the glassy window. Then, there was another explosion, another, another …

Air was knocked out of Rebecca's lungs when her back met the ground none too gently. The air was knocked out of her lungs even as her lips desperately parted to suck it in again.

Her eyes went wide. A concrete plate towered above her for a second, all jagged edges, small flames somehow clinging to it—

Before it was jerked away as if someone had grabbed it in mid-air and pulled it away, which was, of course, impossible, and yet concrete and metal were floating above her. She saw another ship fly close by, but instead of monsters, there was a man on it, all black with flashes of green, and the concrete _moved_ even as his hand moved …

Finally a breath filled her lungs. Then darkness claimed its toll.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

"I am a god, you dull creature!" He threw his arm out, face contorted in anger. "And I will _not_ be bullied by—"

The world spun much too fast. And then—

He heard the impact more than he felt it. The cracking must have come from the concrete. Maybe. It was all too fast, all _wrong_.

Then—

Nothing. Everything went still. For a moment, he was completely numb. It could not last, though. Pain flared up in his body, and he would have screamed if there was air in his lungs, if he could draw in a breath. It felt like there were spikes driven through his torso, and twisted. Every inch of his back was on fire. His limbs, however. He couldn't move them. Couldn't move anything. Didn't even feel them.

Somehow, he knew his eyes were opened. Whiteness, blackness, it mattered not; he wasn't seeing anything. He wasn't thinking. He just was.

Somehow.

Then finally, finally, he managed to suck in a breath. White hot pain seared his chest. There was nothing but pain. It was all-consuming and ever-present, and there was nothing else.

Until fear.

With fear came realisations. With them, knowledge. He called his magic desperately, pulling it to his body, sending tendons of it into his shattered backbone to repair what he could.

Blacking out was not an option. He needed to know what was happening outside. Control, that was what he needed, especially now when everything seemed to be slipping through his fingers. He needed to be out there to prove things to himself and everybody else. To save himself in every sense of the words. Instead, he was lying in the ground, still unable to move.

Time was running out.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Tony Stark didn't know what had made him come out here. At first, he'd just wanted to be done with it all. Dealing with Loki had been tedious enough after all his energy had been consumed by fighting. He'd stuck around, watching Thor produce some magic handcuffs and SHIELD add a muzzle—why the hell did they even have muzzles?—and then arguing furiously when they'd asked him to let Loki be kept at his place overnight since SHIELD's facilities had been blown up. Tony had been overpowered and eventually agreed to taking Loki to his tower after SHIELD had promised to get him their second and last cage meant for Hulk. There was no gaping hole under this one, but it would have to do, they'd said.

So, he now had a defeated and most likely vengeful God of Mischief and a couple of unnaturally strong guys hanging around, and suddenly the idea of helping to clean up the city didn't sound so bad at all. Steve had been planning to go at first, but leaving Thor as the only guard for Loki seemed unnerving despite the shackles, and the cage, and whatnot. And, Tony had suddenly had a really strong urge to get away from all that.

Not that he was doing much cleaning as it was. It was just him, hiding behind sunglasses and a baseball cap, no armour. Most of the time he just strolled through half-destroyed streets, helping somebody lift a piece of concrete here or there. The police was out, working, the military, the volunteers, pretty much everybody was here. If he looked long enough, he'd probably find Natasha and Clint out here, too. Or maybe, Fury had sent them on vacation …

Darkness was slowly falling, settling over the city that never slept. Maybe it would tonight. Tony couldn't imagine all the bright coloured signs lightening the streets again, or people dancing the night away. They might drink, and drink they would, but not like that. He himself was planning on locking himself in the darkest room his tower had to offer. Somehow, it came as a relief that the streets were now dusky, grey, devoid of their usual pulse. They'd lost lives today; it was only appropriate for the city to mourn.

Ruins filled his vision field wherever he looked. This particular street was no exception. It still looked like any other, even with no people cleaning it, yet. That was part of the reason he'd directed his feet this way. A little silence felt good. A little solitude. It was bad enough he felt like a stranger in his own city, he didn't need the feeling of being surrounded by people and yet completely alone on top of it …

A lone feminine figure in the distance brought his feet to a stop. She was standing amid the ruins, unmoving, distant, staring at what used to be a tall building.

Tony moved to approach her. Something was off, he noticed even as his eyes were sliding over her jean-clad legs and the short, light beige coat hanging around her body. As he got closer, he got a look at her profile, taking in her chocolate brown hair cut in layers, the lower ones interlaced with strands of metal blue—the colour reminded him on the glow of his own arch reactor—and a big grey purse hanging on her shoulder. Then, little more than five feet away, he came to a halt and gently coughed.

The woman spun around slowly. Her eyes were dark, their colour hidden by dusk, and he grudgingly noticed she was just as tall as him, give or take half an inch. And her face, indicating she was somewhere in mid-twenties, looked strangely familiar.

"Are you okay, miss?" Her fingers were gripping the purse too strongly.

She nodded.

"Sure? You look like you've seen better days."

"Seen them all right, Mr Stark."

"And here I thought I was doing a good job hiding. How rude of you to shatter my illusions. But—let's talk about you for a second. You look familiar. Who are you?"

"Rebecca Reed," she answered slowly. He raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

"No, sorry, doesn't ring a bell." Women didn't like this kind of response, but he truly couldn't categorise her name as familiar, even if it did sound like he'd heard it before. That was the trouble with having been with too many women …

"I work for the New York Times."

"Oh."

Really, he had nothing better to say at first. Then, his brow furrowed.

"Just tell me, did we have sex at some point?"

Rebecca only stared at him.

"I'm seriously asking that." Tony was starting to feel more than a little awkward. If they'd had sex, she'd probably smack him within the next five seconds. If they hadn't … Well, it was better to make a fool out of himself now than deal with a pissed off woman later.

"No," she said finally. "You answered some questions once. At a press conference. No sex."

"Oookay. Good to know. You can forget the question now. I just had to ask."

"No worries. Your reputation is quite known."

"Which one?" He curled the corner of his mouth. The woman stared at him again, her gaze bordering on glaring.

"Don't try to flirt with me."

"Ah, it's the bad one then. Well, I should try to convince you to change your opinion …"

"Mr Stark."

That was the only thing she said, but it kicked the shit out of him.

"Sorry. Rough day. You know, the whole save-the-world routine. Not exactly the best psychological stability."

"Ditto to that," she mumbled, looking distressed again. Something was certainly troubling her.

"Not the easiest day for you, too, was it?"

A slight shake of her head was all he got.

"I thought I'd help to put the city back in order," he said for the sake of keeping silence at bay. It felt good talking to somebody who was not connected to the whole superhero thing.

"Not putting much in order right now, hm?"

"No. I think I'm better at founding things. And you, Ms, um, New York Times?"

"Rebecca," she corrected, but her heart wasn't in it; she didn't seem bothered. That was something new in women.

"Rebecca. Why are you out here?"

"I was thinking," she said vaguely, but her eyes, which slipped to the ruins again, betrayed her. Tony pretended not to have noticed. He sighed.

"You can say that again. Today gave us all enough to think about to keep us busy for a dozen years or so. Perhaps I should retire earlier to get sufficient time for it …"

Maybe staring was her substitute for raising eyebrows. No, wait, she finally arched her left eyebrow a little. Very little. Weird facial expressions. He hoped he hadn't said that out loud. Women usually didn't approve of such—

"I don't think you should." She was looking at him earnestly, and he had to swallow a bitter laugh.

"Well, you're one of the few."

She arched an eyebrow. She finally arched an eyebrow!

"Haven't you turned on the TV lately?"

"I saw the destruction with my own eyes." She shifted uncomfortably. "Why would I want to see it again?"

Tony had to admit she had a point there. And she seemed not to be blaming him and the rest of the Avengers for the destruction of Manhattan. She also seemed lost and vulnerable, and while her blue highlights were definitely not his style, she had pretty brown eyes. Before Pepper, he would have taken her out.

"No." She shook her head and offered a small, sad smile. "Maybe I should have watched. But I … um … I haven't been home yet. And, I wanted to know what happened. I was trying to remember … um …" She smiled the same kind of smile again.

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop and actually think about them,

"You can come over for the night if you want."

They only earned him another stare, and it made him want to kick himself. He'd just invited a woman he barely knew over for the night while two of the Avengers were staying with him, Loki was locked up in a cage, Fury was coming over in the morning, and he hadn't even realised his offer had sounded like he was inviting her to his bed until now. But she clearly had. Her eyes suddenly lit up with flames.

"Mr Stark."

This didn't sound good. Then again, he was famous for bad ideas.

"Aren't you supposed to be together with your CEO?"

"Pepper? Yes. Yes. I wasn't asking—look, this just came out wrong, okay? I wanted to make up for my earlier question. I wasn't inviting you to bed or anything."

Her eyes softened and he went on. "I just thought maybe you lived further away and needed somewhere to stay overnight. You can get dinner or something."

Man, he really wasn't good with people. Or relationships. He shouldn't have invited her in the first place. But it would make matters even worse if he withdrew the invitation now, wouldn't it?

"Very kind of you," she said slowly as if she were considering the offer. "Public transportations are a bit of a mess right now, and dinner sounds good. I would like to come. I think."

He managed a quick smile.

Someone should have written a manual on how to stop one's mouth from working faster than the brain. It would be a lifesaver.

* * *

A/N: Please review ;)


	2. Chapter 2: Once Down, Twice Up

_A/N: Sometimes, there will be suggestions for what music you can listen to while reading. But they will be merely suggestions, if you don't like it, feel free to ignore it (there's an author on this webpage who offered music suggestions-she wrote the Fallen Star series (Loki/Jane), they're awesome-and I really liked the idea). So, yeah ..._

_Part II: Goran Bregovic - Underground Tango_

**Chapter II–Once Down, Twice Up**

'_Twas deep; so deep of night,  
When I saw what I had seen -  
So truly deep of night,  
When I went where I had been_

_Mark R Slaughter__: __Night of Nights_

Rebecca couldn't help but gape. Of course, she'd seen Stark tower before, of course, she knew how big it was, but seeing it from the inside, all these floors hiding workshops and offices and—she supposed—actual apartments, walking past ceiling-high windows, selected paintings, and furniture so expensive she could maybe afford a couple pieces with her year's salary, things suddenly seemed much, much more impressive. And, if the fact that she'd always wanted to see it but tried to convince herself she really didn't need to had something to do with it, well, there was no one to point fingers at her.

"Lower floors are meant for project development, then there are offices and conference rooms, and the top is all mine. Well, right now I'm kind of sharing it a little, but it's still mine. Almost as good as my mansion. I had to make sure of that; my working habits are not exactly organised, as you probably know, because everybody somehow knows that, and if you didn't know before, you know now, and I hate to be stuck in a workshop with no food and all …"

Stark rambled on as they took the main elevator up; an enormous cube made of dark glass which looked so much better than the one in Rebecca's home, but really, that was just a some metal put together and this one …

"… but I have to warn you—my, um, residents are unlikely to be very pleased by your presence. Stressful day, still work to do, you understand?"

Rebecca only nodded. Stressful day. She'd awoken in a street, covered with debris, under a big piece of concrete, one side of which was leaning to what was left of a wall, the other side dug in the ground, so that it practically formed a shield over her. It was probably why she was alive now.

Alive. How hard it had been to grasp the meaning of this one simple word. She'd been lying for what seemed like ages, listening, trying to figure out what had been happening, and finally, when nothing but silence had answered, she'd slowly climbed out, rewarded with a view on an empty, demolishes street, remnants of smoke and dust still in the air.

She'd figured she was fine. There'd only been scratches on her skin and cuts in her clothes. Her bag had still been right there, along with a slight pain in the back of her head.

Sometime after that, she'd found out that her pendant had been broken, and the reality of the day's destruction had sunk in. The things itself wasn't anything special; small, made of steel, shaped like a cat with its back sloped and seen from the side. But, Leah had bought it for her after Tiger had died, and Rebecca hadn't taken it off since then. She could feel it lying on her breastbone even now, although now there was only a slightly jagged edge where the tail and hind legs should be, and it irritated her skin a little every time it moved, but she didn't care enough to take it off, and nothing would convince her to do so. It was her connection to Leah, dear Leah, who was no longer here, and not even her body was, because the flyer had exploded right in her face …

The elevator came to a stop and they exited.

"See, this is the private area, only the privileged few are allowed up here … Well, and those wonderful people who make dirt disappear, and—most importantly—food delivery. I would take you to the top, but it's been … redecorated. I should probably proclaim it as modern art and get people to pay for seeing it, a masterpiece called 'Hulk Smash!'"

Rebecca smiled despite herself; he had to just love his own voice, no person who didn't could ramble like this.

"Hulk is the big green … guy?"

She'd come too close to saying monster. Hell, it was human nature to call different beings monsters, but she'd seen that so-called monster take down the aliens, and the question arose who was the real monster there.

"Yes. Too bad Banner's gone, he ran at the first chance he got. Anger management issues. I still think he secretly does Pilates. Say hi to him for me if you ever meet him, he's a nice guy."

She chuckled slightly. It felt so surprisingly good listening to somebody just talk about everything and nothing. But, she really had to ask,

"Do you always talk so much?"

"Yes," snapped a female voice nearby. "Even in his sleep. You should seriously consider that before you go to bed with him."

"Wow, Pep, hold your horses. I'm not gonna sleep with her."

Before Rebecca could ask why everybody kept assuming she wanted to do something with Stark that involved—well, no, a bed wasn't really needed, and removing the clothes wasn't either—that was, plainly put, sex, Stark strode to a good-looking woman with reddish hair and kissed her square on the mouth.

"I missed you," he muttered. "But that was hardly a welcome."

The woman sighed. "_What_ is she doing here, Tony?"

Strak looked almost apologetic, to Rebecca's surprise. His sigh mirrored the woman's one.

"Pepper, you know there's havoc in the city. I found her in the streets. Subway's not functioning. I just offered her a place to sleep."

"Tony …" Pepper shook her head. "That's nice of you, but you must be aware …"

"Relax. It's fine."

Their voices were lowered enough for Rebecca to get the hint. There was something they didn't want her to know, which in turn only made her more curious. Pretending she wasn't trying to eavesdrop, well, in a way, she let her eyes wander over the corridor. There wasn't really anything to see except a small staircase behind Pepper. It was too narrow and insignificant to be the main one. Probably some kind of a personal way.

"Fine." She heard Pepper give in. "But it's your responsibility. Your fault. And I will have words with you later."

"I knew you can be nice." Stark turned back to his guest. "Pep, this is Rebecca Reed_." Ah, so he did remember my name._ "Rebecca, this is Pepper Pots, my CEO."

Their gazes met. Rebecca felt like a rat in a lab, put in a glass box for everyone to study, but it only lasted a moment. Pepper smiled, although it only partly reached her eyes, and said,

"Welcome."

"Thank you. 'm sorry if I'm a bother."

"You're not." Stark. "Not at all. Right Pepper? Hey, where is everybody?"

"Natasha and Clint had to go with SHIELD, as you surely know already. Steve's in the lounge room. Thor is still ... busy."

Rebecca had heard people avoid certain subjects enough times to know when there was more to it. And in this case, it certainly was.

Stark had been right; his 'residents' hadn't been particularly glad to see her. Well, they hadn't _actually_ seen her. But she'd heard two hushed masculine voices join Pepper's after the latter had asked Stark to come out for a second and Rebecca'd been left in the lounge room alone. She hadn't been able to make out what they were saying, but something in their tones bordered on frantic from time to time. Not to mention angry.

She hadn't stayed long. Claiming she was tired—and she was, really—she'd got Stark to show her to a guest room (of course it had a bathroom on its own, the rich bastard), where she'd stumbled into the bed and slept soundly, dreamlessly.

Until she'd awoken.

She never had needed a lot of sleep—it must have run in her family—which worked just fine for her, but there were moments when she hated her own body for it. Like now. She didn't want to lie in the dark, wide awake. It always led to thinking, and thinking was as dangerous as jumping off Stark tower without a parachute. Feeling … Feeling was even worse.

She did everything she could. She closed her eyes, lay still, focused on breathing.

Ten deep breaths before she turned onto her side restlessly.

Here we go again.

Finally, Rebecca kicked the covers away. It was no use; she wasn't going to fall back asleep anytime soon, so why not get some air. She wished she could just cross the corridor and find Leah working, and she would silently sit beside her, watching her fingers shoot over the keyboard, like she used to. But this wasn't their apartment.

There was no Leah anymore.

She walked down the hallway, still taking in all the high ceilings and glassy surfaces, searching for a terrace of a kind, when a staircase caught her attention. It didn't look like anything special, but it was the same staircase she'd seen before. It was enough to arouse her curiosity. The night was far from over, and she did not want to lie in the dark and think about Leah until pain consumed her again and she choked on tears. Not here. She felt too vulnerable in this giant tower.

Her steps were almost inaudible, black shoes softly tapping against the stairs. She wasn't even too shocked when she found herself facing glass doors with something that seemed like a pretty good security system. Only, the doors were left open a crack. They slid away soundlessly under the pressure of her fingers, and Rebecca slipped in. Her eyes grew wide at the amount of technology on display; computers, machines, parts of the Iron Man suit, things whose purpose she couldn't guess. Leah might have, but Leah was a computer freak, not technology, and besides—

No. No more thoughts about Leah.

She walked on, halting in front of another door, this one made of metal. Of course it needed a security code, how could it not. She turned away with a sigh. It didn't really matter. Except …

If such incredible things were here, then what was hidden behind this door?

She narrowed her eyes at the dial. They were normal keys, not hologram, which was strange enough. Still, what were the odds of her punching in just the right number? Pretty close to zero. Her fingers lingered over the dial, trembling. She shouldn't be doing her. Stark'd been kind enough to invite her over, and she was trying to find out his secrets.

Well, if he caught her, she could always claim it was all just means to get a story. If the lie didn't die on her lips.

But what would happen if she tried the wrong number?

She couldn't do it. Instead of touching the dial, she laid her palm onto the cold surface of the door—and jumped when it moved. She pressed a little stronger, the door opening yet another crack. Heck, why was the lock even here? Was Stark so sure no one would ever try to get in? So sure he could stop them?

She stopped on her own, though, trying to take in all the computers around her only for a moment before her gaze settled on the obvious, a space on a landing in the middle of the room limited by glass walls. A cage.

Even Tiger would be proud on her soundless steps.

If he wasn't dead. Like everybody else.

A knot tightened in her throat as she ascended the stairs. The heap of black and green she'd seen proved to be a person lying in the middle, curled in a ball, with no place to hide. She stopped just shy of the wall, taking in the clothes and strands of black hair falling over the collar. Recognition kicked in; he'd saved her life.

And, it was confusing her a little whether she should be thankful or whether there was no reason to be so, since the guy had seemed to have a flying thing just like the monsters had, and maybe he'd just wanted that piece of building for an attack, but even if his actions weren't meant to save her, if he hadn't spared her a thought, the fact was she was still alive, and it had been him who'd stopped the concrete just above her body.

Slowly, her feet carried her to the other side, eyes darting over the room before they settled on him again, studying. His face—god, it was pale—was partly hidden behind his arms—his wrists were held together by some sort of handcuffs—strands falling over his forehead in a dishevelled manner. Eyes closed; he seemed to be sleeping. And there was something metallic on his face …

A muzzle. The cruelty of it struck her, and she shuddered. He was a person, not an animal! And yet they'd bound and gagged him, thrown him into a cage like a wild animal. The Avengers, the protectors.

Good and bad were just two sides of the same coin.

But who was he? He looked nothing like the monsters she'd seen attack people. Instead, he looked as human as she, must have been human. So, why had they locked him up? Was he one of the bad guys? What had he done?

She pressed her palm against the glass, more subconsciously than not, just looking at him, as if that would give her all the answers she'd started seeking the last day. Maybe he could. Theoretically. But praxis was a far cry from theory in this case.

She shook her head mentally. Outwardly, he didn't move, not until his eyelids fluttered, and she found herself staring into the greenest, the saddest eyes she'd ever seen. Just a moment, just a look, before his eyes slid close again, but she was frozen in place, wide-eyed, shaken to the core. She hadn't thought anything could disturb her so much, not after she'd lost what little of the family she'd had left, but his gaze had left an imprint on her, one she didn't seem to be able to shake.

Who was he?

What had really happened?

"I just want to know the truth …"

Her voice was barely above a whisper. There was no response, but she didn't dare speak louder, just kept her eyes on him. Was he sleeping again? Was he hurt? Drugged?

He didn't look like someone who'd help monsters destroy Earth. If anything, he looked like a child who desperately needed a hug.

He didn't look like a mad person at all.

Minutes passed before she managed to tear herself away from the cage. She contemplated the whole computer system before she slowly pulled her sleeves over her hands and even more slowly approached it. Her heart was hammering in her throat.

Good and bad, right and wrong—it was all just a blur. Always.

Her hands shook, and she tried to gain control over her fingers, forcing them to come down onto the keyboard.

She wouldn't go as far as to think she'd spent all the sleepless nights beside Leah for a purpose. That would be preposterous, wouldn't it? She wasn't as good as her sister, not at all, but Leah was dead, and she was still alive. And what was the point of pondering the presence or absence of gratitude when her fingers were flying over the keys, when she already found what she was looking for?

Her heart was in an uproar, conscience too, but she did nothing to stop the glass walls from soundlessly slipping away, only went on to wiping out all the traces she'd left behind. Once or twice, she dared to look up, finding the man still curled up on the floor. He was not awake, that was for sure, but she didn't go to him. Switching the system off, she left the way she'd come, ascending the stairs, disappearing into her guest room again, and literally fell onto the bed.

She would think no more. About anything. Not Leah, not the Avengers, not the guy's mesmerizing eyes.

And, certainly not about what she'd just done.

Because she, too, wasn't sure what exactly that was.

She fell asleep, holding on to the remains of her kitten pendant.


	3. Chapter 3: The Right to Know

_A/N: I would like to thank people who have added this to their favourites or alerts. Thanks for giving it a chance. As for the music ... Whole chapter: Uragiri wa Boku no Namae wo Shitteiru–Gisei to Daishou_

**Chapter III—The Right to Know**

_It's the coldest night when I will let you  
Look inside my hell so that you  
Feel the pain that no one can console_

_~Vanilla Ninja: The Coldest Night_

"Rebecca!"

She bolted uprights, eyes wide, the echo of Leah's scream sending her heartbeat into heights. The first thing she saw was a pair of eyes staring at her, and she screamed, trying to push herself away. Moments later, her consciousness awoke, and she offered Pepper Potts what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but the latter didn't seem convinced.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah." Rebecca nodded. "Everything fine here." She yawned.

"If you say so, miss Reed. I just thought … You were screaming in your sleep."

"Was I?" She pushed the covers aside, unable to remember the dream, except for that one piercing scream. But she didn't have to; she knew the story.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Coffee … Yeah, thank you. Miss Potts."

She got up, stuffed her cell phone into her pocket out of habit, took her bag, and followed Pepper, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She was absolutely not a fan of company in the morning. All she truly wanted was to be left alone, left to mourn, but she couldn't, not here, and coffee sounded like a pretty good alternative. And then there was the thing she'd done during the night …

She swallowed. Either Pepper didn't know, or nobody knew yet, or they were all trying to conceal it.

The view from the Stark tower was rather enjoyable, she had to admit. But the ruins she saw …

She looked away, directing her gaze towards Pepper, who was making coffee. It smelled good. Like home.

Did she even have a home now? Or, had it been crushed like so many other places? When she'd walk out of here, would she have a place to go?

"Uh, coffee, smells good, Pepper."

Rebecca straightened as Stark's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. The latter hadn't even entered the room yet, though she was sure he was going to.

"By the way, Fury's bringing the Tesseract around, so Thor can get Loki to Asgard and—what are you doing here?"

"Miss Potts offered me coffee." Her mouth suddenly felt very dry.

"Am I the only one here who's suffering because of being awake at such an early hour?" He walked over to Pepper. "You do have some extra of this stuff, right?"

She nodded and started pouring the liquid into cups. Rebecca suddenly started feeling odd, sitting there, waiting to be served. She suppressed another yawn and walked to the counter.

"You're a lifesaver," she mumbled as Pepper handed her her cup, then smiled weakly at Stark. "I'm not a morning person, really." Which was funny, considering her small amounts of sleep.

Inhaling, she let the rich aroma feel her nose. Pepper whispered something to Stark. Something important?

"Who's Fury?" Rebecca blurted. "And what's a tesser-something?"

All she got was a raised eyebrow, so she searched for her journalist-composure and tried again.

"Mr Stark, society is shocked beyond belief. As a member of the superhero team, you should be able to reassure it with some extra explanation. To give people something concrete to hold on to?"

"I'm afraid you would only have more nightmares."

Before she could help it, her fingers travelled up to close around the pendant.

"Nightmares or not, I want to know what happened. This was not an experiment gone bad or machines built to fight, there were monsters out there! Real monsters! Who killed people! Don't you think they—we—have the right to know what really happened?"

Her thumb traced the metal, expecting to touch the jagged side in a moment, but when it got there the line continued. Incredulous, she brought it up to her face, gaze turning down.

"So, you want to know the truth?"

She nodded absent-mindedly just before her eyes landed on her pendant. They went wide. The cat was whole, looking as sleek as ever, the surface smooth except for a line on the backside, and she turned it around, unable to believe, gaping at tiny engraved letters.

_There is no truth._

Her coffee-cup crashed onto the floor. She felt gazes burning her skin, but couldn't move, couldn't tear her eyes away. Couldn't believe. And then, half a moment later, an unimaginable source slammed against her, not physically but on the inside, in her chest, emotions exploding in her heart and passing so fast it was all a blur, screaming of a dark, dark place. Before she knew it, it was over, the onslaught leaving her overwhelmed with traces of confusion, anger, fear, heartbreaking loneliness, stubborn determination, and hatred as dark as night, sadness and regrets, and pain, so much pain that it felt like an iron hand was squeezing her heart and it was hard to breathe.

She felt gazes boring into her, felt hands shake her by the shoulders, and blinked at Pepper.

"Sorry, I ... got lost in my thoughts for a sec," she mumbled half-heartedly. Suddenly, she felt so weak, so exhausted from everything, that she wished nothing but to be able to curl in a dark corner and cry her eyes out; she had no more strength to fight her own pain. And yet, and yet compared to the blast she'd just experienced, the rush of everything at once … that had felt worse, too much to handle, too much at once, too concentrated …

"Stark, am I interrupting something?"

Rebecca's head snapped up. Standing at the door was a dark man with an eye patch, clad in black, a silver suitcase in his hand.

"Fury," Stark addressed him with a smirk. "Why would you ever think so? Thor should be here soon enough, and in the meantime … I have an overly enthusiastic journalist to take care of."

Rebecca managed to glare at him, despite her inward struggle for every single breath. Her fingers closed around the pendant in search for comfort. The backside was smooth as glass again, and when she looked, there were no traces of words left, nothing that would indicate they'd ever been there. But, she knew what she'd seen even though she didn't understand. If it made sense or not, she felt like she'd gotten an answer to a question she couldn't quite grasp, something she was looking for but hadn't been aware of it, because she didn't yet know what to do with it or where to place it.

"To answer you, Mr Stark—there is no truth, only different sides of one story. I only want an explanation. What I had left of my family is gone, I'm not sure I even have a home to return to, and I can't understand most of the things that have happened in the last twenty-four hours. Manhattan was full of monsters coming out of a hole in the sky, and people doing things a normal person shouldn't be able to do. I'm not talking about wearing tights or genetic experiments gone bad—or right—I'm talking about the impossible. People can't summon lightning, or make concrete float in midair, or fly by being pulled by a hammer. They can't."

She tucked a couple of chocolate brown strands behind her ear and stared at Stark, daring him to speak, daring him to dismiss her words as delusions. But, it was Fury who answered.

"Miss, these are things you have no need or right to know."

"So we, mere mortals," she snapped at him, "have no right to know what happened? We're to be left to fear something we don't even know?"

"You have no need to fear." His voice was even. "The Avengers will protect you."

"Oh. Like they protected us when one of their own shot arrows into monsters flying past a building full of people, and the explosion was so strong it ripped the building apart, killing the people right with it? My sister died in there! And her boyfriend, and I would have, too, if … if …"

"If?" Pepper asked softly, probably supposing she'd be thankful for the encouragement. But, the truth got stuck in her throat.

"If I'd been in there. I was seconds from entering, we were supposed to meet there, and …"

She took a deep breath, willing the images away.

"People are suffering. They deserve more than this."

"Sometimes, the truth will only do more harm than good," Fury said slowly.

"So, you won't tell me." Her gaze travelled to each and every one of them. "You won't tell me anything. Such heroes you are. In the end, you're no better than everyone else. You, too, are selfish. You, too, kill. You, too, treat others like animals."

Glaring daggers but not sparing them another look, she left the room, striding past two more guys just beside the door, and punched the button on the closest elevator. The doors slid apart and closed behind her, and she allowed herself to sink onto the ground.

Breathe in, breathe out.

The elevator began moving, and Rebecca buried her face in her hands. She needed a quiet, peaceful space to think, to cry, to pull herself together. There was a knot in her stomach, a leaden weight pressing onto her chest. Pain. That sudden, illogical burst of emotions, the origin of which she was clueless about, but one thing she knew: as much as she was hurting, that pain had not been her own.

The elevator came to a stop, and she looked up. It was too sudden. Before she could even narrow her eyes suspiciously, everything went dark. The next moment, she was on her feet, frantically searching for the alarm button, but she couldn't see, and no matter what she pressed, nothing happened. The thing must have been cut short of electricity, and she was trapped in a dark, metal cube with seemingly no way out. Her cell phone was still dead. Well, she'd hardly had time to charge it since yesterday.

She took another breath.

Screamed for help.

And paused. Maybe they'd heard her. But when nothing happened, when there was no response, panic found its way into her mind. Like a caged animal, she started pacing up and down, screaming, slamming her fists against the walls. Afraid. Alone. Not even knowing what kind of a fight she was trying to prolong, only that she could never win.

Hurting.

And then the elevator jerked. Stopped for a second. Something snapped, and it plummeted.

Rebecca screamed on top of her voice, feeling like all the air had been punched out of her just a moment later. She was going to die, she was going to die, she was going to die!

But maybe, maybe she would see Leah again, and her parents, and if she were to die, the hurt would go away. Panic surged through her, but she wasn't given a chance to decide whether death was more repulsive or appealing; the elevator slowed down, jerked once, twice, then kept going down slowly.

She released a breath and sank onto the floor.

No more.

She could take no more.


	4. Chapter 4: The Tide

_Part II: Max Richter—Sarajevo (just leave if for part III, too)_

* * *

**Chapter IV—The Tide**

_And all my colours fade away  
It overshadows my whole life  
This broken melody  
Black symphony_

_~Vanilla Ninja: Black Symphony_

"Hey, Stark, what was that all about?"

"What was what?" He barely glanced at Steve.

"That woman."

He mentally rolled his eyes. "What did it look like?"

"An angry woman?"

"Exactly. Hey, Thor, are your women like that, too?"

The thunder god muttered something unintelligible under his breath. He wasn't interested in the discussions, not about Asgardian women, not mortal women, not anything. Loki was walking half a step behind him, Tony half a step in front with Steve, leading the group, Fury trailing in the back like a watchful shadow.

"Just leave him," Tony said, frowning as he felt Loki tug at his sleeve to get his attention, and he pulled away effortlessly; the trickster didn't even try to hold it, but he did reach for it once more. Tony pulled away again.

"Look, fella, if you're trying to annoy the hell out of me, it won't work, so why don't you just walk along, hum?"

Of course, he got no answer. But Loki also didn't reach for him again, and he turned his attention back to Steve. As much as he'd prefer talking to Pepper or Banner, none of them were here at the moment, and Steve seemed to be the best choice.

"You were saying?"

"I asked why we hadn't used this elevator here to go down instead of walking to the other one. It's much closer."

"Oh, this one's not working. I keep forgetting to fix it." He waved his hand dismissively, but Steve only frowned.

"It's not? The woman got in it. It seemed to be working. It closed and took off and all that."

"Well, it's not working." Tony pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "So, either it miraculously made its way down, or I've got an annoying journalist stuck in my elevator …"

He crossed the remaining few feet that were separating him from the door, frowned at it and started to say something, but before he got the chance, a loud rumble came from behind the door. For a moment, they were all still and silent, then Tony turned to Thor.

"Would you mind punching this door open?"

He didn't mind. Within seconds, the door was history, and they got to see a young woman curled up next to the back wall, knees pulled to her chest, arms hugging them, face buried in the hole in between. Slowly, her whole body shaking, she looked up, pale and dishevelled, and her wide eyes flicked from one of them to another, but when they finally settled, it wasn't them she was looking at; her gaze was directed past the little group, and Tony turned to follow it only to find himself looking at Loki, who was sitting with his back against the wall, eyes closed, and whose skin seemed even paler than usual. Whatever he was up to, they could deal with later. He turned back to the Reed girl.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Rebecca saw his eyes slide close. But, she'd caught his gaze for a heartbeat, and suddenly she _knew_.

It had been his answer. Of all the men she'd begged, he was the only one to reply, answer her silent plea for something to hold on to, answered when she hadn't even formed the question. Somehow, he'd shown her his part of the story, in a way that had gone deeper, touched her more intimately than any words could ever do.

That was when her tears fell.

It all came back—she could remember clearly—only worse, so much worse, for now she knew, and her heart was breaking, not with foreign emotions, not with her own loss, but for him, for his despair, his pain, the sadness in his eyes, even though she didn't know who he was, and nothing made sense anymore.

She dug her fingers into the fabric of her T-shirt right above her heart in a despaired attempt to … She didn't even know, only felt like she was coming apart, piece by piece. Darkness and pain were pulling her in. The bright spots were so rare, so few, and even then dimmed by pain. In its core, every single emotion held pain …

She was weeping now, shaking, unable to push it all away, unwilling to even try. Because despite the pounding in her head, crying felt liberating; it used up her energy, poured out her frustration, channelled out something dark, something poisonous that flitted into her chest every now and then.

It was so hard to care about anything. The burning gazes on her seemed insignificant. She felt them even though she wasn't looking, hiding her face in her palms as she was. There was nothing to look for, except maybe his eyes, but if she saw that sorrow again, locked behind his gaze …

She was falling apart, sobbing, just sobbing, not only _because_ of him but _for_ him, the tears he hadn't shed and never would, she somehow knew, like she knew him in a way so intimate it would scare her had she room for thoughts left, and yet knew nothing about him.

She cried, for minutes, hours, years, she couldn't tell, until arms closed around her shoulders, and she looked up at a man with neat blond hair and symmetrical features who tried to pull her on her feet. But, she couldn't find the strength to get up. Tears were streaming down her face, eyes flitting around. She was lost, like a ship without an anchor, left at the mercy of the currents. Somewhere in this whirl, her gaze found a pair of brilliant green eyes, muscles around them tense, an urge inside them, a command, a pull, a plea so strong she couldn't ignore it.

She was standing now, although she could hardly feel her legs, supported by the man. Something was wrong with her; her body didn't feel right, she felt lightheaded, dark dots clouded her vision, and yet in the back of her mind she knew she was putting one foot in front of the other, slowly. Her gaze never left his eyes; her world was narrowing down to them. And suddenly, they rolled back, and eyelids slid over them, and he slumped onto a side.

She was left standing, disconnected from her body, hurting, and without a single thing to hold on to.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Tony's eyes narrowed at Steve and Rebecca as the former was trying to lead the latter out of the elevator. He was thankful Steve had gone to her. She needed comfort, and he himself was bad at that. Probably, Thor was, too. Fury, he didn't even have to consider.

He stepped forward, planning to enter the elevator right after they'd left it, but he never got the chance. The moment their feet left the floor of the steel cube, the elevator plummeted down. Just like that, without a warning. A crash followed when it collided with the ground on the lowest cellar level.

Tony stared into the dark hole with wide eyes and let out a breath. Rebecca's gaze had gone blank. The inventor stepped forward.

"It's okay now," he said.

She shook her head.

He opened his mouth to speak—

"Loki." Thor's voice. "Loki?"

Stark turned. The god of thunder was kneeling beside his brother, shaking his limp body. It didn't seem to help.

"Loki!"

Fury and Tony were at their side a moment later.

"What is he trying to do now?" grumbled the director. Thor glared at him.

"_He_ is not trying to do anything. _I_ am trying to make him come to." He grabbed Loki's chin with one hand and forced his eyelids open with the other. Loki's eyes were unfocused, and Thor let them close again. He sighed.

"I can't take him to Asgard, now. I need him to be conscious, at least."

"That's just great." Tony rolled his eyes. "So, I get to play a host for a while longer."

"Why did he even faint?" asked Steve, still supporting Rebecca. She seemed to be standing all right but still looked lost. She'd stopped sobbing, though, only silent tears kept slipping down her smooth cheeks.

"Why don't you ask Thor?" shrugged Stark. "He's an Asgardian, not me."

"Well, I don't—"

"What have you done to him?"

Rebecca's voice was weak, yet they all turned. She was staring at them, a strange look in her eyes. Her right hand was still gripping the fabric over her heart.

"_We've_ done nothing. _He_ collapsed," Tony mimicked Thor's manner of speech, but Rebecca's eyes bored into him and she repeated, as quietly as the first time,

"What have you done to him?"


	5. Chapter 5: Job Descriptions

A/N: Again, thanks to those who've read this so far. I'm also writing a Frostiron story, if anyone's interested ...

Um, and next chapter is going to be in Loki's POV.

* * *

**Chapter V—Job Descriptions**

_All knowledge hurts.  
~__Cassandra Clare__:__City of Bones_

Slowly, she opened her eyes. She was lying on a bed, and somebody had taken off her shoes, which, she noticed, were neatly placed on the floor. She was in her guest room again, and it looked exactly the same as before.

Only, she was not the same.

Thoughts were swirling in her head, restless, so many she didn't even know where to begin, but then, like jigsaw pieces, they started falling into place even as her mind struggled to go through it methodically.

The man with green eyes—they'd called him Loki, hadn't they?

He was the reason she was still alive. But—the Avengers were the saviours of the city, and if they were holding him captive, he must have fought on the wrong side. He had to be an enemy. And, when she replayed the scene from a day ago in her mind, ignoring the pain that came with it, she was almost certain his actions had not been fuelled by the intent to save her life. The result, however, was undeniable. She'd owned him.

And repaid. Opened the cage. He must have stayed, though, or else the Avengers wouldn't be leading him who-knows-where. Why he'd done so was beyond her.

Maybe he'd been too tired. He'd seemed tired. And, he'd collapsed later. They'd defeated him; probably he'd been injured in the process. Or later—she cringed at the thought. Or, he had some other plans.

He wasn't human. Not a normal human, at least. It was hard to say how she knew the assault of feelings had been his doing, but when she'd looked into his eyes, she'd known. They went together, the pain and his impossibly green gaze.

It must have been some kind of a supernatural ability. Maybe he could put thoughts into other people's heads. Or rather, feelings. But, that didn't explain her pendant, did it now? It must have been something else then, some other power.

And all the emotions … If they were his answer, then it must have been what he'd felt during whatever events had occurred, right?

Curiosity burned inside her.

The Avengers must have deemed the guy, Loki, dangerous if they'd restrained him in such a way. Handcuffs made sense, it seemed, but the muzzle? She shuddered. It was like saying his words were not worthy of being heard, that he did not deserve a right to his opinion. Was that why he didn't answer with words, because no one thought them worthy of their attention, or was it because he couldn't do it? Because she wouldn't have believed him? Because things she'd get to hear would have been bad?

He was a bad guy, right?

Must have been.

She bit her lip.

What use were her thoughts when she could find nothing but compassion and sorrow for him in her heart?

She started pacing, restlessness tugging at her. She was lacking information, pieces of her puzzle were missing, and without them, she couldn't see the picture. A part of her feared she might fill these holes herself if she didn't get the answers soon; she wasn't sure a distorted picture would bother her, and this was wrong. She'd always been the one to sniff out the truth, she _could not_ be satisfied with anything less.

Rebecca pulled her dead phone out of her pocket and stepped towards the nightstand, but her movement was too rash, careless, and, before she knew it, she yelped in pain and limped away from the damn piece of furniture, her toe throbbing with pain. Cruses, albeit pretty mild, rolled off her tongue.

There was a knock on the door. Pepper's head appeared a moment later.

"Why is it that I'm always lured to your room by screams?"

Rebecca shot her a look.

"I hit my toe."

Pepper slipped into the room, although no invitation had come. Rebecca didn't object. Pepper was all right, as far as she knew. She wasn't sure what to make of the concerned look she was getting, though.

"How are you feeling?" Miss Potts sat down on the chair while Rebecca crashed onto the bed, crossing her legs in an almost perfect lotus position.

"Alive?" She shrugged. "How did I get in here?"

"Steve brought you."

"Oh …" She remembered being carried vaguely, but it was all a blur. "The man with green eyes ... His name's Loki?"

"I haven't studied Loki's eye colour," Pepper said, "but if you mean the one with black hair, pale skin, and weird clothes, then yes, it's Loki."

Rebecca nodded. Her eyes were resting on her feet while she tasted the name in her mind. Loki. It didn't sound familiar. Thor did, though. She couldn't place it, but she was almost certain Stark had said Thor, and there was something about that name …

"Can you tell me what really happened yesterday?"

"A lot of things happened. But … Are you all right? You seem a little pale?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." It was a lot easier to say that than even begin to explain the truth. Besides, she had a feeling certain parts of it were better where they were right now—hidden in the depths of her mind.

"Are you sure? You can talk to me about it. If you want. It might make you feel better."

"Why should I talk to _you_ if you won't tell _me_ anything?"

"It's not up to me to decide what to do with the information."

"Yeah. Sure. They don't allow you, whoever they are, I get it. But, what do they want, that I sneak around and find everything out myself?"

Pepper's expression suddenly hardened. "I doubt you could even if you tried. Tony is a master with computers."

Rebecca had to suppress a smirk. Well, either she was totally underestimating herself, or he thought too highly of himself. She let her shoulders slump.

"Yeah …"

"Hey … It'll be okay, you'll see. I know it's hard to lose a person you love, but you'll come around."

Rebecca swallowed. She hoped the words to be true, almost willed them to be. But, she wasn't sure. She knew loss; both her parents had died a while ago, and she'd come to know mourning like she knew her own face. But, she'd also learned to live around it. And while she knew her sister's death was affecting her, it wasn't all.

"It feels like …"

Like something had shattered inside her. Like she'd lost something for good …

"I'm sorry for your loss. It's hard, knowing that so many innocent people died."

Innocence. That was it.

Her innocence was gone.

"Look." Pepper leaned closer and reached out with her hand to touch Rebecca's shoulder. "I'll find Tony. I'll ask him to explain things to you, okay?"

Rebecca nodded. She didn't think Pepper could change much. But then again, she was Stark's girlfriend, so maybe …

Rebecca watched the doors close. Her gaze lingered on the wooden surface for a few second before she jumped off the bed, put on her shoes, and followed as silently as she could just in time to see Pepper enter the lounge room. She pressed herself against the door frame, hidden from their view, and listened.

"How's Miss New York Times?" Stark's voice.

"Not so good, I'm afraid."

"But, she's better than before?" Steve. "After the episode with the elevator, she didn't seem present at all."

"The elevator …" She would bet Stark frowned. "That was a strange business. I checked it. It was already broken before Loki's attack …"

_Loki's attack._

"… It was sheer luck it made it down. The ropes snapped. By themselves, or at least it looked like it. They weren't cut, that's for sure, and I see no reason why someone would bother cutting the ropes of an elevator that is not used anyway."

"So, how is this strange?"

"Don't you think it is at least a bit curious that the elevator plummeted the moment you two got out of it?"

"Well, yes, but it must have been a coincidence. Loki can't use his powers, and I don't think there's anyone else here who would have … You know."

"I know. But our dear Snow White is wicked. Gives you creeps."

Rebecca pressed herself even closer, whishing she could enter. She was almost sure there were only three of them in the room: Stark, Steve, and Pepper.

"Tell me about it." Steve sighed. "But I didn't know gods could faint."

Gods?

"I'm not a god expert, but it seems they can. Fury sent one of his doctors over. To check for internal injuries and that kind of stuff. And Thor insisted we don't put him in the cage anymore. So, now I have an occupant in my armour-testing room. Well, it's not like he can break those walls. You think we should tell New York Times he has a bed, so she won't glare at us anymore? Seriously, you guys should have seen the way she stared when she asked what we'd done to him. It was like she was accusing us of torture or something."

"The muzzle does look a little … exaggerated," Pepper finally spoke again.

Stark snorted. "Pep, his words are as dangerous as Magpie's arrows; they always hit the target."

"I suppose you're right." Pepper sighed. "And, I know that now. But, Rebecca _doesn't_ know. Meaning she can't understand. That's why I'd like you to explain things to her."

"Pep, she's a journalist."

The way he said it, one would think that was an answer enough.

"So?"

"So, you know what kind of people they are. She'll write an article, and information will be twisted, and chewed, and spit out. Either she'll claim we're all crazy, or that we're lying, or desire to conceal the truth, or who knows what. Then other journalists will read it and twist _that_. We can't trust her."

"Media sure got corrupted," Steve remarked, but Pepper was quick to counter him.

"Not all journalists are like that."

"Enough of them are," Stark said abruptly. "Feeling sorry for her is not a reason to trust her. We're not telling anything."

Rebecca swallowed. A knot had tightened in the pit of her stomach and her eyes stung. She wanted to burst into the room, scream, make Stark eat all those hurtful words, but she pressed a hand over her mouth and tore herself away from the door.

Staying quiet was hard. The impulse to run, to slam the doors behind her, felt like a white-hot flame raging in her veins. She was clenching and unclenching her fists all the way to her room, winning against the temptation to slam the door again. Instead, she pressed her back against it, and her body slid to the ground like a broken puppet. She kicked the shoes off her feet with a broken sigh. If only she could decide between raging and giving in to the hurt …

The unfairness of Stark's judgement stung like acid. He had no right. No right—

She slammed her heel against the floor—the carpet muffled the sound. For the first time she felt overwhelmed. Her fists tightened even as tears slipped down her cheeks.

Well then, if Stark thought so lowly of her, why not get her revenge and do _exactly_ what he feared she would? Damned be him and his computers, she'd dug out information before and she would do it again.

Rebecca wiped her tears away, got up, and pulled her computer out of her bag. She climbed onto the bed. The laptop came alive under her fingers, windows popping up after she'd impatiently clicked on the internet icon too many times.

"Thor" sounded too familiar. She must have heard it before, but since she hadn't known him, she couldn't have heard his name mentioned in person.

She tipped the letters in, Google spit out the results, and her eyes went wide. Slowly, a knot tightened in her throat.

Norse mythology.

God of Thunder.

Son of Odin.

Mjolnir.

Asgard.

Deity, deity, deity.

Her teeth pierced her lower lip. Usually, she would have reminded herself she should really stop chewing it so often, but now it hardly registered. For some reason, it was so hard to force herself to read. Even though this was stuff she needed to know. But—

But …

She returned to homepage.

Her forefinger fell onto the letter L on the keyboard.

She kept molesting her bleeding lip.

Her hands remained in the air, hovering over the keys, while her fingers trembled so hard she was afraid she'd miss the right keys if she actually tried to type them.

Her eyes focused on the 'o', her gaze so intense it seemed it was about to burn a hole through it. But, her hand remained where it was.

If Thor was the god of thunder, there was no telling who the other guy was, or what he could do. What _else_ he could do.

As if he hadn't done enough already. The knowledge of his pain was pressing on her, an invisible weight she had to carry not on her shoulders but in her heart.

Her chest was aching. Aching around a bud that was starting to flourish, tendrils of resentment slowly growing out of their shell. But, like thorns on a rose, there was something darker attached to them. Hatred. She was beginning to hate him for the burden he'd inflicted on her.

Rebecca felt her heart slam against her breastbone. Once. Twice.

And typed in the remaining three letters. She was practically glaring at the screen, her eyes scanning the first results before she settled for Wikipedia as a starting point. And she read, for hours, her eyebrows rising and falling, brow furrowing, teeth twisting her lips, without tearing her eyes away for a second. Something was stirring in her chest, like a dark, thick liquid were flowing through it instead of her own blood, and it carried emotions just as dark.

She'd been a fool. Loki was the god of mischief and lies and deception, a trickster, a troublemaker, and she'd been played.

It burned.

He hadn't wanted to help her. He'd just wanted a way to escape, and her sympathy had been strong enough that she would probably have helped him, if only just to get back on the whole Avengers group for not telling her.

Well, his plan had just been ruined. She would be nobody's puppet. And, she'd write something that would knock Stark on his ass.

There was a knock on her door, and she slammed the computer shut.


	6. Chapter 6: Ashes

A/N: Sorry, this chapter is a bit shorter, but it's kinda a separate unit.

Music: Thor—Crisis in Asgard. If you wish.

* * *

**Chapter VI—Ashes**

_And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd,_

_And strength by limping sway disabled,_

_And art made tongue-tied by authority,_

_And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill,_

_And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,_

_And captive good attending captain ill:_

_Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone_

_~Shakespeare: Sonnet LXVI_

Loki thought his body was on fire. He wanted to scream, but the only thing that came out of his mouth were pained moans stifled by the muzzle; to anyone around him, he was silent. His muscles yearned to move, to make him squirm as they contracted, yet it seemed his body was somehow frozen in place, limbs too heavy to move, movement demanding too much effort, strength he didn't have …

Maybe he was trembling, he couldn't tell. Everything just kept getting worse and worse, but he knew this was nothing yet; he was still aware. He could tell his fever was slowly rising, and just as slowly, he was losing control of his breathing, although the sharper his inhales got the more his broken—_crashed—_ ribs hurt.

He wasn't healing. Without his magic, it would take ages. His own magic, which was now working against him, slowly burning his body, tearing tissue apart.

He'd thought if the shackles were supposed to keep his magic at bay, that they would prevent him from using it. Which they did. In a way. It had been _so_ hard to reach for the spells, so exhausting to use them. But, he could do it. If he really, really wanted. The only thing the handcuffs seemed to be doing was keeping magic locked inside of him—he knew that, now. But, magic was just a form of energy, and like any other energy every time one used it some of it slipped away, got lost. He'd heard mortals speak about the energy loss when transforming or transporting it, and although the snippets of magic that escaped him were much, much smaller, not even worth mentioning under normal circumstances, the principle was the same. But this time—this time it had taken a lot more effort to conjure a spell, a lot more energy had been wasted, and instead of it dissipating in space, the shackles had kept it inside of his body, energy that needed an outlet, but had none.

It'd started with unconsciousness. Then, pain in every part of his body that was gradually increasing. Fever. More pain.

His focus faltered. Somewhat. He kept his eyes closed.

Thor was with him along with a man Loki had never seen before, but who'd proven to be some sort of a doctor. He'd figured out the broken-and-cracked-ribs part well enough. But then, they didn't know how to proceed.

There were tubes attached to the needle piercing the skin of his right elbow, transparent liquid dripping through. He didn't like the idea of having anything put into his body, but he couldn't fight it. Thor had said it would help. Not that that meant anything.

He heard the doctor say his fever was somewhat concerning, but nothing to fret about. If it didn't rise. They put something cold and wet on his forehead and continued to murmur something he couldn't make out. He heard the doctor leave, though.

Idiots. Loki could have told them what to do in a second. He just needed them to remove the damn handcuffs, only for a minute, and he would be fine. Well, on a second thought, he would be less bad. "Fine" didn't really exist in his vocabulary right now.

But, they wouldn't let him speak. Even now, when they knew something was wrong. They didn't bother asking him what it was, or where he was hurting, or anything else. He would have been expecting this from the doctor or the Avengers, but fromThor, that thick-headed fool who struggled to believe in him despite everything?

He didn't need believes, not Thor's, not anybody's. It didn't matter what Thor did or didn't do.

A knife twisted inside of Loki's stomach—or so it felt. He must have jerked a bit, for Thor's eyes fell upon him, and then the Thunder God sighed and placed his hand over Loki's.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled the latter's attention away from Thor. Two sets of footsteps, but only one continued into the room.

Loki didn't move. If he waited for half a minute at most, the identity of the newcomer would be revealed.

"Is he aware?"

Tony Stark. That was fast.

"I'm not sure," replied Thor. "Why?"

_Yes, why indeed?_

"Pep kept bugging me to tell Miss NY Times. Which I'm not doing. She's a journalist, you know."

"So?"

Did Thor even know what a journalist was?

"Um, they're poison. Destroy you with their words."

"Like Loki?" Thor sounded puzzled, and Loki would have smirked if it wasn't for another gut-twisting gush of pain in his chest.

"Well … No. But—ah, it doesn't matter. Look, Pep agreed she'd stop bugging me if I let NY Times see we're treating Reindeer Games okay. So, I brought her down here. And, she said she'd stop being annoying, too, if I let her talk to him."

Thor didn't answer right away. "I don't like the idea."

No, of course he wouldn't. After all, Loki was sooo very dangerous, even bound and gagged and being torn apart by his own magic …

"Not the only one, big guy. But, he seems a little low on energy. Besides, if she talks and he doesn't, he can't do anything, right? There are cameras just to be sure. And, you can stand right behind the door."

Loki imagined slamming the man against the nearest wall. It was one thing knowing how (in)capable of hurting somebody he was, but it was another thing hearing Tony Stark list all the reasons why he was seemingly helpless. On second thought, he _could_ slam the man against the wall. But, considering the extra amount of pain it would cause him, he abandoned the idea. For now.

"Come on, we shouldn't keep a lady waiting."

Thor grumbled something that sounded like an agreement. Footsteps followed again, this time leaving, and Loki heard the door open then close again. Silence settled over the room. He would have thought he was alone, judging by the lack of any sound, but he knew better.

Her presence was far from tangible, with his senses dulled and all, but he knew she was there, staring, waiting. Slowly, he forced his eyelids open. It was hard, but his vision was still intact. _For now._

He'd been right; she was staring. That, he'd been expecting. What he hadn't been, though, was the condemnation in that dark brown glare, something dark, a stunning contrast to the confused plea he'd seen written in her eyes last time he'd seen her.

He moved his lips on instinct before the pieces of metal in his mouth stopped him from speaking. He _hated_ this damn muzzle with every fibre of his being but quickly willed his thoughts to go another way. He couldn't think about his tongue being held down in a way that made him gag every time he gave it a second thought. Or, about the metal pressing into the skin just under his chin. Or, how he _couldn't speak_.

Anger was burning through his body now, along with magic, and he slowly pushed himself in a sitting position. _Talk_, his eyes demanded. The woman complied, but her words were more of a quiet hiss. Very quiet.

He was almost sure the cameras couldn't pick it up.

"Your game ends here."

He wouldn't answer even if he could.

"It was a nice try, I'll give you that, but I know who you are. See, that makes the situation completely different. I _so_ won't try to help you escape. The sad thing is, I probably would have if you hadn't tried to manipulate me. But, you are certainly not going to use me any further. And, you know what—you've made me very, very angry at you. I don't like feeling things like that. You really do deserve being held here, and I'm totally hoping your punishment will be hard enough."

Loki blinked, drawing his eyebrows together. His mind was working hard to connect her words under the blanket of fog that was getting thicker and thicker. His pulse shouldn't be so fast, breathing not so demanding, nor the edges of his vision so blurred.

The impulse to stop her came only after she'd already turned and walked to the door as slowly and silently as she'd come in. He bit it back. Speaking was not an option. Answering questions didn't have any sense. What he had to say didn't matter.

He let himself fall onto his back, noticing the cloth that had fallen off his forehead for a moment.

It was getting worse. He thought he was going to be sick. That would be glorious, suffocating on his own vomit. Then again, it would stop the fire tearing him apart.

The magic shouldn't kill him. Wouldn't. Most likely.

His hands gripped the sheets under him with a force that made his knuckles turn white. He swallowed. His vision was getting eaten away by dark spots, another tiny speck of black joining the cover coming down on his eyesight with every laboured breath he took.

What did it matter?

Slowly, "life" was starting to join "fine" in a place somewhere outside of his vocabulary.


	7. Chapter 7: Exchange Material: Reasons

A/N: I hope you're enjoying the holidays. As for music: not exactly what I wanted, but okay …

Part I: watch?v=1pYfSBjZQWg&feature=related

Part II: The Three Musketeers–She Died the Way She Lived

* * *

**Chapter VII—Exchange Material: Reasons for Answers?**

_Though art's hid causes are not found,_

_All is not sweet, all is not sound._

_~Ben Jonson: Still to Be Neat_

Tony took another sip of Scotch, staring at the flat screen TV without really seeing. They were watching some lousy comedy in a meaningless attempt to cheer everybody up, Tony, and Cap, and Thor, whom the first had dragged away from Loki after Rebecca'd come out and he'd locked the door behind her. Loki's condition seemed stable, the doctor had said, even if he couldn't figure out what exactly was causing his fever, but other than having a temperature, some cuts and bruises, and a few broken ribs, he couldn't find anything wrong with him. It couldn't hurt to leave Loki alone for a short while—Tony was positive he wasn't going anywhere—and Thor needed rest.

The billionaire turned his eyes towards the Thunder God, whose eyes were half-closed. Surely, he hadn't seen a moment of the movie, and Tony wanted to ask why he didn't just go to bed but eventually decided against it.

None of them would be getting any real, sound sleep until the matter was finished and Loki was out of their way. Well, his and Cap's.

Tony closed his eyes with a sigh. At least, he'd dealt with Miss-oh-so-curious-NY Times. Not that he didn't understand her—after all he'd always been the one who wanted to understand everything—but trusting her would be too risky. With all the crap already going on, he—they—didn't need another problem in form of a nosy journalist. Even if her motivation seemed to be coming from the right place.

"Sir?"

Jarvis's voice made his eyes flutter open.

"Yes?" His voice sounded tired.

"There's something you should see."

"What?" He really wasn't in the mood.

"Loki's heartbeat is irregular. It seems like his heart is failing, sir."

And just like that, he and Thor were both on their feet, wide awake.

"Jarvis, tell Bald Spot to get down there," Tony commanded. "Immediately." He glanced at Thor before dashing out of the room, knowing he'd be followed.

Damn.

As much as he wanted to kick Loki's ass—very hard—he couldn't have him die; he was wanted alive.

They ran down the stairs; taking an elevator would actually last longer. Thor was the first one to reach the door, and he opened it with so much force he nearly tore it away. Tony and Steve followed at his heels.

Loki was lying on the bed perfectly still, eyes closed, complexion ashen. His chest was heaving with short, uneven gasps.

"Brother!" Thor sat down with the speed of light and took hold of Loki's shoulders, shaking gently. Seeing as there was no response, he shook stronger. Despair cut deep lines into his forehead.

"What is wrong with him?"

Tony crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't look at me. Nothing seems to be wrong. Well, it didn't." His eyes narrowed. He wasn't a doctor, but he _was_ smart. And they had a doctor. Somebody should be able to figure this out …

"Um …"

"Yes?" Tony and Thor turned to Steve simultaneously.

"Nothing. I was just thinking … Maybe we should remove the muzzle. He seems to be having trouble breathing."

"Oh." Thor didn't need to be told twice. He pushed his hand under Loki's neck and pressed his finger against the sensor that recognised his fingerprint. The device opened with a soft _click_. Carefully, he pulled it off, revealing red lines on Loki's white skin that stood out like Christmas lights during the night. Or, Stark tower in New York. Thor ran a thumb over them, as if that alone could make them disappear.

Loki's lips were dry and, in one place, cracked. Breathing must have come easier now, but he still didn't so much as stir. There had to be something they were missing …

"Guys." Tony's gaze bored into Loki's face. "His eyes don't seem to be moving at all."

"But they should be?" Thor looked bewildered, and Tony had to admit Loki had a point in calling him stupid.

"Yes."

"And what does it mean then?"

Tony shrugged. "I have no idea. What?" he added defensively when Steve glared at him. "It was an observation."

"Aren't you supposed to be smart?"

"Well, excuse me if my college didn't include classes on crazy demi-gods."

"Loki isn't crazy."

"He killed eighty people—"

"In two days," Thor finished, eyes blazing. "I _know_. But he isn't crazy. And, if someone else was in his state now, I'm sure _he_ could tell what was wrong with them."

"Why don't you ask him then?"

"He's unconscious!"

"He wasn't before," Steve cut in. "You could have asked him."

"How about you, Super Soldier? Don't you have experiences with being out for a while? Why don't you share your super secret knowledge with us?"

"I was asleep, and even that is hardly my—"

"CUT IT THE HELL OUT!"

Three pairs of eyes shot to the door to see Pepper, Rebecca, and the doctor standing there, the first one clearly enraged.

"I cannot believe it!" She strode into the room. "How, _how_ is it possible that Loki can make you argue even when he is unconscious and clearly dying?! Yes, dying! Doctor Bowell says he only has minutes to live if his heart continues to beat this way. And, you three stand around and argue!?"

Tony watched all colour drain from Thor's face and his lips tremble. He looked nothing like a god right then, but just as vulnerable and afraid as any human would be in a similar situation. He cupped Loki's face with his hands and started talking, begging him to hang on.

Tony made a few steps back. Doctor Bowell was jumping up and down, checking one thing after another, then finally uttered he needed to get a defibrillator out of his car and left in hurry. Steve had placed a hand on Thor's shoulder. Pepper and Rebecca were still standing near the door. And, all of this was fine, but the problem was _somebody had to do something!_

Tony's brow furrowed as he contemplated everything he could think of. But, it seemed that Thor's panic was contagious, for he couldn't really concentrate. He sighed in defeat, reminding himself it shouldn't matter if Loki died—except they would have a mourning God of Thunder to take care of. Thor would be hurting. Oh, and there would be that little fact that Loki died under their care. Way to go.

Then, his nose picked up a faint but sharp scent. It was familiar, but he could quite place it. It certainly didn't belong here …

Tony's head snapped up.

Burning flesh. That was it. But where …?

His eyes flitted around, looking, searching, and finally settled on Loki's wrists. Where there used to be fabric under the shackles, were now holes with jagged edges.

Tony didn't ask permission; that had never been his thing anyway. Maybe he should have, with all the magic stuff, but plainly he just didn't care in the moment. His fingerprint was as good as Thor's, and Loki's handcuffs fell away, revealing horribly red, smouldering skin. He only had a moment to look, though. Before he could take another breath, a wave of energy hit him with the force that should be somewhere close to what would happen if he put all the angry women in the world together, and he was slammed against the wall. A grunt escaped him when the back of his head met concrete.

For a moment, everything was dark. He blinked furiously, and, having landed on the floor, was just pushing himself back onto his feet again when a startled shriek shook the air around him.

His heart stopped for a fraction of a moment.

Pepper.

She was sitting on the floor next to Rebecca, whose face was strangely blank as if she couldn't by all means comprehend something, covering her mouth with her hand, and her wide-eyed stare was directed at Loki.

Slowly, Tony's eyes followed her gaze … And he swallowed. Hard.

Loki was still there, pale and motionless as before, but his eyes were wide open, and he was a bloody mess.

"What the hell …?"

Tony had never heard Steve curse before. Then again, even he could think of no other words.

All three Avengers were beside the bed in an instant, Tony's headache forgotten as he stared down at the god.

Loki was covered in blood. His clothing was undamaged, and yet crimson was spreading through it little by little. There was the scent of burnt flesh again, his right shoulder was twisted in an unnatural way, _and_ _were that_ _bones sticking out of his wrist?_ His hair was a mess, left cheek torn open, blood trickling from the corners of his lips, tears still streaming from his eyes, dark bruises on his neck.

Saying Tony didn't understand was an understatement. You couldn't have someone half dead and unconscious, and then a moment later, well, still half dead, but looking like they'd just fought against an army. Alone.

"What … has just happened?"

Tony couldn't agree more with Thor's question.

Loki's teary eyes focused with surprising sharpness. "Why should I ever bother answering another question?" His voice was raw as if he'd been screaming for hours, and so weak it was barely audible. But, there was no less poison in it when he narrowed his eyes at Thor and spat,

"Fuck you."

Before any of them could react, they were left starring at an empty, bloodied bed.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Rebecca blinked furiously as if the action could replace the reality with some other one, one where she wasn't kneeling on the floor, staring at a bloodied bed, one where things didn't feel so _off_. It wasn't only about what she'd just witnessed, although if that couldn't be called off, she didn't know what could. There was more; the moment she'd been thrown into the wall, something had changed.

She couldn't grasp it. _That_ was the problem. It felt like something was missing, like there was an empty hole where something else should have been, and she didn't understand. Her mind turned to memory for help, and she let it flip the pages, look at the scenes evolving in front of her eyes once more.

She'd come here with Pepper and—

No. That wasn't it.

Confusion settled in. She could as well replay the last month in her head, seeing as she had no idea what was supposed to be missing. Maybe nothing was. Maybe, it was just the effect of being thrown against the wall, or seeing what she'd seen. Maybe, it was the hole Leah's death had punched through her chest.

"Thor?"

She looked up when Stark spoke.

"What was that?"

"If only I knew, my friend. The blast, that was magic."

"And … all the blood?"

Thor shook his head. "If he'd been able to use magic, then maybe there could be some explanations. But now …"

But, he had been able to use magic, right? The elevator … The ropes had snapped, and it had fallen and _stopped_.

"Could it be possible that having his magic restrained did that to him?"

"No. It's never happened before. With others."

Stark sighed. "But seriously, dude, Sleeping Beauty was pissed at you when he came to. Why was he pissed at you?"

"Loki is always angry at me," Thor replied.

Well, she didn't know about that, but why was _she_ so angry at Loki again?

Her already messed up train of thought was interrupted when doctor Bowell came rushing back into the room and stopped dead, eyes wide in shock.

Tony Stark chortled. "Now this is bound to lead to wrong ideas."

* * *

A/N: It will be explained ... Eventually ...


	8. Chapter 8: Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

_Part I: Thor— Urgent Matter_

_Part II and III: Damien Rice—9 Crimes_

_Part IV: Hugo Diaz—Milonga Triste_

* * *

**Chapter VIII—Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall**

_I had a dream, which was not all a dream.  
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars  
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,  
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth  
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;_

_~Lord G. N. G. Byron: Darkness_

Loki rolled over just in time. His knees hit the floor hard, sharp pain in his right wrist causing his vision to go dark, leaving him teasingly close to blissful unconsciousness, but the way his stomach convulsed pulled him back to reality, and a moment later he retched on the carpet yet again. There was hardly anything else than saliva and gastric acid left to spit. Blood covered them both, though. His throat was on fire, the foul taste in his mouth causing the bile to rise again.

He forced it down and took a deep breath. Or, he tried. It was too shaky. His lungs burned, too.

Not that he hadn't been expecting the pain. And this, kneeling on the floor, broken, torn apart, was probably better than the alternative; Thanos had never heard the definition of mercy. Still, Loki was furious. Thor had interfered _yet again_. There was nothing, not a single thing, the big oaf didn't stick his nose into, and then it was always Thor this and Thor that …

He took a couple of breaths, as deep as he could manage with a collection of broken ribs, gritted his teeth and slowly, so very slowly, pushed himself upwards, his less damaged hand gripping the edge of the couch. Pain left him gasping for air, which only made it worse, and cold sweat broke out on his brow. Unconsciousness was calling for him again, but when he collapsed, it was on the couch.

He didn't move again. Not that it mattered. Every position was uncomfortable beyond compare.

His eyes slid closed. Not even magic was available to him right now, with both his body and mind so badly damaged. But he needed magic, craved it with every fibre of his being as the past kept reappearing in front of his eyes.

Somewhere in his chest, overshadowed by broken bones, torn tissue, and internal bleedings, something ached. Would Yggdrasil fall apart if for once he wasn't let down?

Clenching his fists was a bad idea. Inhaling too sharply equally so. Slowing down his breathing was harder than he remembered it to be. But, it didn't really matter.

All he could do was wait as his body worked to repair the damage even as it was slowly falling apart.

Hours later, a satisfied if pained smirk tugged at his lips as he felt tendrils of power wrap around his bloodied fingertips.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

They'd asked her to stay, but she'd refused. She'd just be in the way, with Loki on lose and all. She'd promised not to bug them with questions anymore in exchange for her little meeting with Loki, so there was nothing left for her in Stark tower. But, the whole exchange now seemed … fruitless.

Why was she so angry?

Ah, saving her life so she'd help him in return, right? Wasn't that it?

Before she knew it, she was playing with the pendant again, her thumb travelling up and down the broken edge.

Her brow furrowed. Right, it had got broken in the explosion. Or her fall, or at some point of the whole thing. She'd known that. Of course, she had.

"Here we are, miss."

Rebecca sighed. Parts of the subway weren't working, so she'd taken a taxi.

"Yeah …" She searched into her purse for the wallet and offered the money to the driver. "Thanks …"

Without so much as another glance, she crawled out and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her apartment building was undamaged.

It felt good to be home. Their apartment wasn't exactly big, but it—

No. _Her_ apartment.

Leah had been thinking about moving out to live with Dean, but it hadn't come to that. Well, now Rebecca had the place all to herself. And, she didn't like it.

Maybe she should find something smaller, she thought when she dug out her phone and finally started to charge it. It would be cheaper, now that she'd have to pay for it alone. A nice, small place, with no bitter memories attached to it …

As soon as her phone came to life, she received an onslaught of messages; texts, voicemails, missed calls, everything.

She bit her lip and immediately came to regret it; it still hurt.

Of course, people didn't even know if she was still alive.

Guilt spread through her, and she took hold of the iPhone. This was going to take a while, but it was a necessity. Sleep could wait another hour or two.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Rebecca hadn't even known how worried she was about everybody until each call brought a small wave of relief, and an invisible weight was slowly sliding off her shoulders. People were alive. Ashley had to move in with her friend after her own flat had been thrown into the air (or, more likely, had crumbled down with the rest of the building), Mick was in need of a new car, and aunt Lisa was relieved to hear that Rebecca was at least okay after spending two days worried half to death in Maryland. Speaking of Leah's death wasn't easy, but Rebecca did her best to break the news to people gently. It was considerate to them, even if her loss felt more final every time the cursed words were forced past her lips.

The sun was long gone when she finally slumped down onto her bed, exhausted yet a little at peace. People were alive. They were coping.

And Earth was still spinning.

No pun intended.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

The cheval glass was enormous, its golden frame elaborately adorned, exquisite patterns brought to life by hints of pitch black. The polished glass mirrored an empty hall, white, with marble floor and pillars covered with swirling lines of gold. The place was completely empty save for a lone figure in front of the cheval glass, dressed in long-sleeved, dark blue gown with a bodice that clang to every curve and folds of fabric flowing from the waist down until they came to spill over the floor.

Her.

Rebecca stared. Her hair was pinned up in an elegant manner but starting to come undone, her eyes a little too wide, lips parted, breathing slightly too frantic. Her hands were twisting the fabric, almost clawing at it, but they didn't seem to work right, as if they were no longer hers to control, and no matter how cool the soft silk felt against her skin, it did nothing to chase away the heat under her skin. She felt too hot, too vulnerable, too powerless as a hot pulse kept throbbing between her legs.

Yet when the first tears welled up in her eyes, the physical aspect had little to do with it. Despair was at fault, and fear and sadness, and the realisation that she could not—and never would be able to—have what she desired, even should her wishes change; the crushing power of a simple truth, destroying her on a psychical level. Frustration boiled inside, and it made her want to slam her fist against the mirror, maybe even crash it. Who cared if her skin cracked.

She gave a startled yelp when a pang of pain shot through her chest, fading to a steady ache a moment later, but it stayed, spreading down to her stomach, and legs, and arms, with no indication it would ever stop. Fear followed, gnawing at her heart.

What was happening?

Her eyes flitted around in a manner of a cornered animal. Lust had been subdued by pain, shrunken to a mere memory in the farthest part of her mind, overflowed by unease, fear, and doubts, and her heart was beating like it was trying to break free of its prison.

Suddenly, she wished she were wearing her old familiar clothes, her second skin, not this new shinny thing that had to be more expensive she could ever afford. This wasn't her. It was foreign, violent, forcing her to be somebody else. Yet, her only alternative was being naked, and she couldn't be. Couldn't be left so vulnerable. She would fall apart if not for this one layer of silk …

When she saw the first drop of red, she brushed it away carelessly, smeared it over her breastbone. But, another one blossomed in its place instantly, and Rebecca gagged in shock when she realised blood was coming from under her skin.

_Under._

She was bleeding, and it wasn't until later that her skin cracked right over her heart as if it wanted to bleed out. She could only stare, wide-eyed, trying to breathe, which only resulted in hyperventilation.

She was going to be torn apart inside out.

Panic settled in the pit of her stomach, and the more she was freaking out, the more she bled.

_Why_ was she bleeding? Her body had been fine a minute ago, she'd only been a little agitated and—

Rebecca gasped.

Her mind. Her feelings.

Everything she was feeling transformed from psychical to physical; emotional pain resulted in aches, fear had driven her heart to the point of bleeding, and her lust must have resulted from some other sort of yearning, too.

If she just calmed down …

But, she couldn't. She was being torn apart by her own fears and desires, and she couldn't go backwards. The bridges were burning viciously behind her.

That was when she screamed. Her fists slammed against the glass, again and again, until it gave out. She couldn't stand watching herself anymore, the reflection showing her the truth she wanted to run away from. She couldn't stand being powerless, not having even the slightest bit of control. But, what she did to the mirror—that was her choice, and her next punch caused glass to fly all around. Splinters pierced her skin. It hurt. But this was good. It was her doing. _Control_.

No.

It was destruction.

She was being destroyed. Her chest had become a bloody mess, crimson leaking over expensive silk and leaving traces on the white marble.

If this went on, she could die.

No. No, no, no! _No!_

Again and again, she punched the remains of the glass sticking to the golden frame.

Control.

She was in control.

She was _dying_.

"No!"

Her scream echoed amid the pillars and faded, lonely, overheard. Tears mingled with blood as she sank to her knees, unable to support her own weight any longer.

"Please …"

Only a broken whisper now.

Her eyes spotted a large shard amid the scattered pieces, a million tiny mirrors. She picked it up, biting her lip, and brought it to her chest.

Nothing could be worse than feeling life and will leaking out with every shaky breath she took. Chances of survival weren't worth the fear, the pain. Really dying couldn't be so bad.

She pressed her eyes closed and stabbed herself in the heart.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Waking up left her in the darkness. Immediately, she had one hand over her heart, twisting the fabric, while she found the light switch with the other one. She breathed a sigh of relief, but not even light could chase away the tremors in control of her body, or cold sweat on her skin.

Rebecca swallowed.

This had felt far too real for any sort of comfort to come from something as simple as waking up. It was terrible, how she'd been working against herself, how she'd lost control, and how with control she'd been robbed of so much more—herself.

She kicked the covers aside and slipped out of the bed. Water sounded appealing. She stumbled into the kitchen. Her throat felt raw as if she'd been screaming, and her mouth was dry like pepper, but water did help. If only it could wipe away the rawness in her heart.

Was this a normal reaction? The world suddenly looking as different as if it were hanging upside down (or was it her?), nightmares plaguing her sleep and following her into the waking hours, this big empty hole where something should be, but she couldn't remember what no matter how much she tried, and how eerie the silence seemed when there was no Leah sleeping in the room next door, how small Rebecca felt, and how big and faceless the world …

She slumped on a chair, placing her glass on the table. She was not going to fall asleep again anytime soon. She sighed. Might as well do something useful. Like use everything she'd discovered to write the best article New York had ever seen. There were supernatural beings among them, practically gods, creatures of myths and legends. If that wasn't a hot topic, then she didn't know what was.

But no headlines appeared before her eyes like they seemed to do so often. No attention-worthy first lines, no catchy endings, nothing.

She had nothing.

And, oh god, she hadn't gone to work yesterday. She didn't even know what she was supposed to write about.

Rebecca buried her face into her hands for a few moments. She would deal with this in the morning. She'd have to arrange a funeral service for Leah, even without the actual body, she'd have to talk to Dean's family, probably. Yes, she could do that. It wasn't exactly your everyday occupation, but it was something people _did_, a part of much needed normality.

And then maybe, she should call Ashley to grab a cup of coffee and have a movie night, and the next evening she could get a hold of Mick and hook up with him.

Yes, she should. Sex with no feelings attached, a perfect stress reliever.

She couldn't help but think at least a part of Tony Stark would agree with her.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

"That was a long period of 'left alone', I must say."

"Yeah, sorry about that." Tony crossed his legs at his ankles and sent an apologetic smile in Bruce's direction.

The latter only shrugged. "It seemed too good to be true."

"Hey, you're always welcome here. Although, I don't think any of us were expecting Loki to—well, whatever happened."

Hours had passed since Loki'd disappeared. Fury had been alerted. Tony had brought Bruce back. Clint and Natasha had already been sent to another mission somewhere in Middle East, and Tony really didn't want to think about it too much. There were more pressing matters at hand anyway.

They had to find Loki. He had no cube now, so tracing gamma radiations was out of question. He hadn't shown up on any cameras. Thor had no all-seeing whoever-it-was to send him to the right location this time. Actually, Thor was pretty useless at the time, caught in a storm of different emotions, worry and anger _and I have to find Loki_! Steve had his hands full of the said demi-god, and probably his own thoughts. Which left Tony and Bruce to come up with a solution. Again.

"We have to trace his magic somehow," Tony said. "There must be some kind of radiation when he does his mojo."

"Do you have scans?"

"Um …" He should have them. He really should. But, he'd been too busy fighting to think about research, and he'd hardly gone one on one with Loki. Without the suit didn't count. "No."

"Is that the only idea you have?"

"That, or you could go big and green and sniff him out?" He raised his eyebrows hopefully. Bruce gave him a _Look_. "No? Okay. Look, it's very much possible that his energy differs from other kinds of energy. Or, I should say, from normal kinds of energy. If we came up with a way to compare all the energy waves …"

"We'd still have to check every single one of them. You know how big Earth is. My guess is, from what you told me, Loki went somewhere to lick his wounds—"

"I certainly hope this was just a figure of speech there."

"—which means he'll be nowhere obvious and preferably far enough to have a safe distance from us. He could have even left the Earth."

"I know." Tony's expression was grim. "But, it's the only thing we have. Otherwise, there's just waiting for his next move. And trust me, that would drive a couple of people crazy."

"You mean yourself."

Well, yeah. Boredom didn't mix well with Tony Stark. But, he didn't really get the chance to answer.

"Has anyone come up with a theory about what happened to Loki, yet?"

"As in the illness or as in the blood? I'm not even sure anyone should have that much blood in his system, never mind losing it …"

"I could run some tests. If you provided me with a sample."

Tony took a sip of scotch, silently cursing himself. Was his mind failing him? Had he lost IQ points because under-average IQ was contagious and he'd been around Thor and Steve and SHIELD too much? Bruce could be a good influence in that case …

"Tony?"

"Hm? No. I don't have Loki's blood; the sheets were disposed off. I can tell you it's red, though."

"Tony." It was more of a sigh than a word.

"What? The guy's a sort-of god, his blood could have been purple for all I'd known."

Bruce groaned something unintelligible under his breath, and Tony put his drink aside.

"Fine. I'm serious. Thor said none of the possible theories made much sense since Loki couldn't use magic. If he could have, though … You should talk to Thor about it. I'll focus on the energy recognition. Or, as we should call it, find the bloody demi-god. Come one, laugh, that was funny. No? Fine. Any help is welcome, though. I did promise you my labs. Heaven."

He got up and waved at Bruce to follow him, but the scientist shook his head. "I'm sure Loki can wait until morning. You may function on alcohol and coffee, but I need some sleep."

Huh. Tony probably shouldn't complain. Sleep didn't sound all that bad. And, if Loki blew something up in the meanwhile, they'd be spared the search of his whereabouts. Even better.

"Morning it is," he grumbled, and suppressed a yawn. Bruce did not deserve that kind of satisfaction.


	9. Chapter 9: What Else Is There to Say?

A/N: Sorry it took me longer to update. There were things I had to do (teachers just don't understand that fangirling is a full-time job), I was writing One Day at a Time, and, honestly, I haven't been in the best shape. And it is a little discouraging to have a story pretty much ignored. Yeah, okay, that sounds like bithiching, which is not my intention, sorry. I mean, I can see people are reading this, and it just makes me sad not to get any kind of response (I am very thankful to those of you who put me under alerts and faves and so on, and to the rest for reading, please don't get me wrong). But I guess that's okay, too. Actually, I'm just glad if I can make somebody's day better ...

Okay, moving on to something less self-pitying (yes, I'm a freakin sensitive person, please don't resent me. Here, virtual cookies for everybody). You can listen to Fiona Apple—Sally's Song for part I.

* * *

**Chapter IX—What Else Is There to Say?**

_Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worst kind of suffering.  
__~Paulo Coelho_

Three days.

Three. Fucking. Days.

And he still felt like he'd just lost a fight against Mjornill.

No, that was too close to home to be funny. Even for somebody with a sense of humour that dark.

His emotions were a whirlwind, his mood changing faster than he could teleport, leaving him drowning in pain, then seething in a fit of rage and hatred, and then lost in the deepest despair, even more exhausted. He should calm down and focus on healing, but damn, his brain was counterproductive, wasting afterthoughts on things that were already decided, and torn between begging for forgiveness just so he would be left alone and rid of the unease that thoughts of being found filled him with, and destroying everything and everyone.

He could do neither. So, he waited for the only opportunities to get his revenge and take his rage out on others, bring them to their knees, _destroy_ them in their sleep, and—no, not them, _her_, the woman, most of all that woman, because she'd delivered the final blow, and _he just couldn't have taken any more._

He hadn't known what she feared but figured going with what everybody feared was a good shot. How sweet it would be to see her wake up screaming, but that would be more of an effort than he could handle at the moment. He shouldn't be wasting any power. Putting the bones in his body into the right places again had been painstaking, agonizing, and so, so slow, but who was there to tell him what was smart, and if he found himself gasping for breath after being blown back to reality, what did it matter?

Loki scratched his cheek where new skin was forming under a scab.

She deserved this.

For once, just once, after so much time, there'd been somebody asking him and asking for the truth, believing that hearing truth from him was possible. For once, he'd decided to answer truthfully. Because she'd been looking like she desperately wanted to know, like the hope of acquiring that knowledge was the only thing that kept her going.

If he'd wanted or not, it had hit some vulnerable, raw spot in his heart; knowledge had always been his anchor.

Her eyes hadn't been judgemental. Condemning. Expectant. She'd been looking at him like she'd been asking him for help … But nobody did that. Nobody needed his help, and nobody _asked_ for anything. They _demanded_.

_Fix this, Loki. You made the deal, you fix it._

_Make it right, Loki._

_Know your place—_

A loud sound made his body twitch involuntarily, which sent waves of pain through him, and for a heartbeat raw panic wrapped its fingers around his heart and squeezed, before his brain recognised the sound as a car horn. Gritting his teeth, he pressed both palms against his face. Damn window. He should close it; it was going to push him over the edge.

If he could, he would have laughed. Who was he kidding? Push him over the edge? He'd fallen so far over he couldn't even see the edge anymore. What was a little extra damage to his nerves?

Besides, he would have to get up to close the window. Not an easy job. Damn, he couldn't even feel his right leg. A nerve had been severed. He'd healed it a little in a fit of rebelliousness but figured it wasn't worth wasting his energy on; he had no plans to walk. Broken bones were painful, but not having a feeling in a part of his body meant pain there didn't register, and he could live with that.

Live.

Irony.

After everything, he was still alive.

It seemed not even Death wanted him.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Rebecca slowly rolled the glass between her hands, her eyes tracing the edges of fruits in her cocktail. Ashley was rambling about rehearsals and flipping strands of her fiery red hair away from her chin. And Rebecca was trying to pay attention, mumbling in affirmation at all the right times, but it stung so badly. They were sitting in a bar, talking about everything and nothing like they'd done for so long. She'd thought it would be nice, continuing the rituals like nothing had changed. In the end, she found it debilitating and out of place.

"So," she said after Ashley'd finished complaining about a new singer coming to Broadway and getting a major role way too fast, "where do you live now?"

"Maya was looking for a person to share her apartment with." Ashley shrugged. "So I moved in. I'm still living out of boxes, though. You feel like helping me get settled in?"

"Sure." Rebecca poured the rest of her sangria down her throat and turned to the bartender. "Give me one more, please."

Ashley poked her elbow. "Saturday works for you?"

"Yeah. Fine."

"Not very talkative, are we?" Ashley teased, which made Rebecca shake her head.

"Things've changed. Leah's dead. Dean, too. Lower Manhattan is in ruins. There were _aliens_. And nobody explained anything."

"There was plenty of talk on TV."

"Yeah, but what did they really say? Not a damn thing. 'We'd been attacked by aliens from outer space.'" She did her best imitation of a reporter's voice. "'We are still investigating the circumstances.' Blah, blah, blah. Why don't they tell us?"

"Look." Ashley patted her shoulder and pushed the drink the bartender placed onto the counter to Rebecca. "Turn off your journalist eyes. They were freakin' aliens. What else is there to say?"

"Plenty."

Pictures covered her mental field of vision. There was Fury with his SHIELD, the Avengers, Tony Stark with his tower and suit, the green guy, a mutation that should never have happened, Captain America, who was no less unnatural. Gods came out of legends to walk the Earth. Hell, gods were fighting one another.

She'd never really asked what Loki had done, but it seemed easy enough to figure out. The aliens were bad. He was bad. He had to be working with them.

Manipulating bastard.

And his eyes just had to be so very green.

Maybe, somebody should explain why he'd been able to do magic when he shouldn't have been. Or maybe, maybe they should cast some light on the fact she'd known he could do it all along and still hadn't told anybody.

And someone should, by all means, tell her why Loki had looked like he'd been trying to hold on to his life with everything he had when she'd hissed at him in that improvised confinement.

Someone ought to take his eyes out. They shouldn't be so green.

Maybe, there was even someone who could explain why she felt like she was missing something. Carrying an empty spot was bad enough, but an empty spot for which she didn't know what had been filling it was _so_ irritating.

Still not quite as horrifying as her nightmares.

No.

She wouldn't go there.

"Like what?"

Ashley's voice shook her awake.

"Nothing."

Cocktails were a really good invention. Like really, really good.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

"Oh, for all our asses' sake, Mean Swing would you stop for a second?!"

Tony bristled. It wasn't that he couldn't understand Thor's restlessness, because he could—there were all those nights from time ago when he couldn't sleep for dear life, and he would walk up and down his workshop until he feared his footsteps might leave a path carved into the floor and—

No, that was beside the point. What wasn't, was Burce's increasing agitation. Tony did not wish to be in need of replacing furniture any time soon, thank you very much.

At his remark, Thor finally stopped pacing and gave Tony a pointed look.

"You do not understand, Man of Iron. 'Tis all my fault. Loki is somewhere out there, and we have no way of finding him."

Tony sighed. It burned him that he was unable to oppose. Thor was right. Tony and Bruce had spent two entire days closed up in the workshop, driving Pepper just this side of crazy, ignoring Thor's tenacious banging on the door until it had finally stopped towards the evening of the second day, and barely registering Steve's message that he'd been called in by SHIELD to help with further investigations of Erskin's formula. They'd racked their brains day and night, literally, living on coffee and sandwiches, and came away with results that were about as useful as Thor's snoring was subtle. They could trace energy waves as much as they wanted; without samples to compare them to, they had nothing.

Tony's ego didn't take such blows lightly.

"How about you?" he groused. "You plucked him out of the quinjet quite nicely last time. Can't you find him again?"

Thor shook his head. He hadn't started pacing again, and Tony saw that as progress. Bruce seemed to have calmed a bit, too. He mentally congratulated himself.

"Heimdall cannot see him if my brother refuses to be seen. Right now, he refuses."

"And he just chose to be visible last time? He must have missed you."

The god's brow tightened. "Do not jest about this. Loki must have known I would find him soon enough."

"He has a point." Bruce finally lifted his head. "An attempt to level New York to the ground would be hard to ignore."

"Excellent observation abilities." Tony dropped onto the couch next to Bruce and reached for the TV remote. "I'm sorry, Thor, but there's nothing we can do right now. Until Loki chooses to make an appearance, we're in the dark."

Thor's shoulders sagged, his voice about a thousand decibels quieter when he spoke again. "I fear for my brother. His injuries were serious even for one of us. And yet … My patience with him is wearing thin."

"Hey …" Tony had almost flinched because of all the hurt the last sentence had carried. "You have more patience with Loki than my tower has windows. I would have kicked his sorry ass out of your nine worlds—"

"Realms."

"—long ago."

"You're a good brother," added Bruce. "If I ever had one, I'd want him to be like you."

"Well, I'm a happy only child. No offense."

Thor smiled faintly at them and finally sat down, too. "Thank you, my friends. I only wish I could be sure about this, too." He entwined his fingers, looking at the floor with an absent expression. "I used to think of the past with nothing but fondness. My memories are those of happy years. All the adventures Loki, and I, and our friends have been through … He would always complain about being torn away from his books, and spells, and whatever else he was occupied with, but in the end, there were only so many times when he did not join us. We … We grew up together, we fought together, went to missions, won the battles, we spent time together.

"But now, I can't help but doubt. I cannot believe Loki would turn on us so easily. And I wonder if the past was really as happy as I remember it to be."

Tony said nothing. He was hardly fit to judge—he only knew scraps of Thor's past and even less of Loki's— and not good with comforting words either. The problem was, Thor was very much in need of those.

"I don't think your memories are delusional. I just think you have a habit of keeping positive events in mind and discarding the not so pleasant ones. Perhaps, Loki does the opposite."

Now, he should really give Bruce another lab to play in.

Thor offered the doc a half-hearted smile. "Mayhap. Still, this situation is my fault. Again. I should have taken Loki to Asgard when I had a chance."

Tony frowned. "But you said you needed him conscious."

"I don't exactly _need_ him. I mean, I do, but not technically."

"What _do_ you actually mean?"

Thor looked at his hands before his gaze shifted back to Tony. He looked almost apologetic. No, scratch that. He was just this side of giving him the puppy-eyes look. And he hated people looking at him with puppy eyes. Especially Pepper. He always gave in to her, even when she was asking completely unreasonable things, like attending Monday morning meetings, or wearing that ridiculous red tie she'd bought him. Tony was sure she'd done that one on purpose.

"He doesn't have to be conscious to travell back to Asgard," Thor said slowly. "He could be dead, it wouldn't make a difference. But I want him to be awake when we get there. It … It wouldn't be fair if he were to awaken home and … I think Loki fears his return. Not even I know what his punishment will be."

Tony bit back a question about how Asgardian punishments usually looked like. Not that he cared about what happened to Loki, in fact, he, too, would sleep better if Hawkeye got to send an arrow through Loki's eye socket, but he did hope blood eagle was just a thing of legends. For some reason, he was afraid to ask.

The silence which settled over them was uncomfortably tense. Whatever he'd say on the subject, it wouldn't make it any better. Loki was a master at causing trouble; it seemed no matter if he was conscious or not, present or not, he always managed to spoil the atmosphere. Not that they'd had a pleasant one to begin with.

"Why don't we all watch a movie?" he said finally, partly easing the tension. "Something light-hearted. I'll get Pep, okay?"

The two nodded in union, looking slightly defeated. Tony pushed to his feet and started towards the door.

"And Thor is so not choosing," he threw across his shoulder.

* * *

A/N: Um, did I make it up for the trying-not-to-make-it-come-out-like-bitching? Maybe? You want more cookies?

Just asking, partly out of curiosity, partly 'cause it might be useful information: in the move verse, do people know aboout Stark's arc reactor? As in, do they know he has it in his chest, and if yes, do they know what it does? And the second question: in Avengers, when Loki talkes to the Other, is he summoned to that place or does he decides to do astral projection on his own? If anyone knows, I'd be thankful for the answers.


	10. Chapter 10: Digging

**Chapter X—Digging**

_Now there's three versions of this story_

_Mine and yours and then the truth_

_~Robbie Williams: Shame_

Rebecca twisted the end of her ponytail around her finger. Once. Twice. She shifted uncomfortably, her knee brushing the reception counter.

"Yes?"

The woman finally looked at her. Her short-ish blond hair positively needed a new colouring like two months ago. At least.

"I've come to see Mr Stark."

"He's not in the office anymore. You may come on Monday."

Such kindness.

"I'm not here for business. It's a private visit."

The woman, Kate, her nametag said, looked her up and down as if trying to evaluate her worn out jeans and black leather jacket. Rebecca stared back before something clicked in her brain and her gaze darkened appropriately.

But—

She could play that card.

"We don't want to keep him waiting, do we now?"

"What's your name?"

"Rebecca Reed."

"Just a moment," Kate grit through her teeth. She turned away to make a phone call.

Rebecca let her eyes wander over the hall. The flowers were to her liking, bringing a taste of nature into this world of glass and metal. But then, she thought about bunches of flowers decorating the graves, and her grip on the plastic box she'd brought with her tightened.

"Mr Stark will receive you," said Kate. "The second floor from the top. Third door on the right."

Rebecca nodded her understanding, pushed her bangs out of her eyes, and made her way into the elevator.

What little fear she had about getting stuck inside, she tried to keep at bay with logic; what were the odds of her choosing a not-working elevator the second time in five days?

Not much.

She recognised the floor immediately, so finding her way was easy. Stopping herself from biting down on her lip—she _had_ to cease doing that—she knocked lightly.

"Come in."

Rebecca took a deep breath to steady herself and gently opened the door. Pepper was stationed behind a big working desk, and Stark was leaning over her shoulder, pointing at something on a computer screen Rebecca couldn't see. Her steps were unsure, but she managed a smile when they looked up.

"Hi … I, um, I just wanted to thank you for everything you did for me. Took me in and all." She held out the box. "I … made muffins?"

Maybe coming here wasn't such a good idea. Stark could buy a muffin bakery every day if he wanted.

But Pepper's smile was kind, and Rebecca crossed the rest of the room to place the packet onto the desk.

"They're for the rest of … your team, too," she added.

Stark reached out and pulled the paper away. His eyes lit up.

"Blueberry muffins! How did you know?"

She shrugged. How could she bring herself to explain that Leah used to love blueberries and that she'd taken after her mom, when just thinking about them made her throat knit together? They wouldn't understand. She'd needed to do that, even if it was hard to grasp why and harder to explain. She wasn't even sure she could.

"I had extra blueberries," she murmured, looking down and hoping Pepper wouldn't start the usual are-you-all-right routine. Subconsciously, she found the contour of her pendant and started tracing the lines with her thumb through the fabric of her T-shirt. A part of her knew she should throw the pendant away; it was broken after all. But a stronger part objected. She felt tied to it, and through it to something bigger—partly to Leah, but that wasn't all. Something had changed inside of her, created a hole that should be filled with something she couldn't remember, and the pendant was a reminder of that change, of a simple fact that there was no going back and that life would never be the same again.

"You look weary. Is something wrong?"

She flinched under Stark's scrutinizing gaze.

"No, 's just … Never mind." They had enough problems, and this was no place to mention her dreams.

"You do look pale." Pepper joined Stark. Great, now they were both studying her face. Rebecca sighed.

"I haven't been sleeping very well lately."

Pepper gave her a questioning look, a silent invitation to go on, and Rebecca found herself unable to refuse; there was a chance talking might help, and she was willing to take it.

"I've been having these nightmares …"

"Yes?"

But she just shook her head. How did you tell people you'd been killing yourself night after night for days?

"Do you want to sit down?"

What?

"No!" Her reaction was instinctive. "No, I won't bother you with this stuff! I caused you enough trouble already, and I don't even—"

She bit her lip and made a step back. Stark's eyes caught her gaze.

"You don't even know us," he said calmly. "But it's been five days since you left here, and I haven't seen any twisted truths in newspapers yet. I haven't seen anything written by you, actually."

"That's 'cause I haven't written anything important," she admitted, cheeks heating a little. "I mean, I tried to write, but nothing really comes to me, so I just stick with stuff that doesn't really matter …"

"It truly wasn't about an article then?"

Stark came around the desk to stand beside her, watching her intently.

Rebecca stared at him for a moment. Then she realised what he meant.

"No. It was just about me. I just … had to know. Because of Leah and Dean and … Your archer—his arrow caused the explosion. And—" She sucked in a breath. "I would have died. I was right there, there was just a window between Leah and me, and then a flyer showed up. I tried to run, but I was too slow. Then the arrow exploded and sent the flyer crashing into Starbucks. There were more explosions. The building shook. I … Concrete fell. I would have died. But—"

"But?" Stark's voice was gentle. Pepper was silent.

Rebecca swallowed. "Loki." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "He held it in the air. Used it for an attack or something. It's not like … It wasn't to save me. I think. I think he didn't even notice me. But I'm still alive because of it. I had no idea about anything. That's why I wanted to know."

"I see …" Stark scratched his stubble. "Let's go someplace else, hm? I'll get you a drink. Pep?"

"You know I'd love to, but as I've been trying to say goodbye for the last ten minutes, I think I should really get going now."

"Can't you stay another minute?"

"Tony, even you can't do puppy-eyes good enough for that," she said, but her smile opposed her words immensely. Stark pulled her in for a kiss, and with another smile, she was off.

"Come, let's sit down, right?" Stark waved her to follow. "Jane's flying in tonight, Pep offered to meet her at the airport. They're bunking in a hotel."

"Jane?"

"Oh, right. Thor's girlfriend. Sort of. I don't even know what he'd call her. Consort, or something, the way he talks. He calls me Man of Iron, now really, and Coulson—"

A shadow settled over his face, and Rebecca was a little glad they reached the lounge room right then, so she didn't have to ask. Oh, she wanted, but some questions were better off unspoken.

"Just sit down somewhere. How does Scotch sound?"

"Strong?"

"Naah. Wine then?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"Great." Stark rummaged around the bar. "We'll try the muffins. So"—he walked towards her, balancing two bottles and two glasses in his hands in a way that really shouldn't be possible, and placed them all onto the club table—"Loki saved your life, huh? Is that why you sneaked in my lab and opened his cage?"

Rebecca was just really, really glad Stark hadn't pushed the glass into her hands; his soft white carpet wouldn't appreciate it.

"I … I, um …"

Stark sprawled all over the couch opposite to her and kept eyeing her with a serious expression. But she couldn't get her tongue to work. Her palms were suddenly very sweaty.

"Relax, okay? I didn't kick you out then, I'm not doing it now. I would, however, like to hear an explanation."

"I … Okay." She took a deep breath. "Okay. Yes. I didn't really know—no. Wait. I couldn't sleep. It happens a lot, I don't need much sleep. Nobody in my family ever did." She waited for half a second to see if he would point out the use of past tense, but Stark remained silent. "I used to get up and watch my sister do her work. But here … I thought I'd just walk around a little. The staircase looked out of place."

"Pepper always said that, too." Stark offered a half-smile. It was so amazing, how his eyes always lit up just the slightest whenever Miss Potts was mentioned. "I have one like that in my house in Malibu, leading to my workshop. My first good suits were made in it, and I spent a lot of time there. I wanted a piece of the place brought here. But enough about me, go on."

Rebecca shrugged. "I found the cage. He'd saved my life. This is not a favour one should leave unreturned."

Short versions were always so much easier. How could she go on to explaining the intensity of her encounter, how fragile he'd looked there, how his gaze had burned into her soul …

"What was my mistake?"

"Oh, you were good." He smirked. "But Jarvis has the whole place under surveillance."

"Jarvis?"

"Jarvis, say hi."

"Good evening, Ms Reed," said a bodiless voice, and Rebecca nearly jumped. She cursed herself. Of course, there'd been security cameras, how could she not have thought about it?

"Evening," she replied, looking at Stark. "And Jarvis is …?"

"My A.I."

"Oookay." It was only now that she dared to reach for the wine. "My turn to ask questions. Why didn't you say anything? Normal people would kick me out, or better still, have me arrested."

"I'm not normal people."

Of course not.

"So, why?"

The wine was good. Just the right kind of sweet. She rolled the glass between her fingers and crossed her legs. The edge of her foot brushed the club table.

"I don't like following the rules. Besides, Jarvis could have closed the cage any minute, and I wanted to see what would happen."

Rebecca swallowed.

"What…" Her voice was raspy and she coughed to clear it. "What … did Loki do?"

"Oh, nothing. He stayed put. You wouldn't have an explanation for that?" His eyes narrowed. Rebecca shook her head.

"So … What are you going to do now?"

"Well. You should be charged with cooperating with a war criminal and locked up. But I kind of like you, Blue Jay. Actually, I support rebellion. And your reasons are … innocent enough. But—"

She subconsciously pressed her back against the couch when his voice hit a whole new level of I'm- definitely-not-kidding.

"You should know _Loki_ deserves being locked away very much. He led the Chitauri to Earth. He would have been dragged home by Thor if things hadn't gone terribly wrong somewhere. We can't explain what happened. We can't find him. There's a dangerous criminal on the loose, and he might be on Earth just as he might be anywhere else. This is not to be made public, do we understand each other?"

Rebecca nodded. Her insides were trembling.

Loki had led the attack.

_Loki had led the attack. _

Loki was …

"You know how to handle computers, right? Wanna see my toys?"

Rebecca could do nothing but stare.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the wait, thank you for reading, and there's a little note: The whole Asgardian/Aesir thing? Yeah, for now I have everybody in the fic saying Asgardian, because that's what they say in the movies, although Aesir is the expression used in myths. I'll start using Aesir as soon as Loki corrects someone, because Thor obviously won't ...


	11. Chapter 11: Personal That is the Point

_Part II: Thor—My Bastard Son_

**Chapter XI–Personal. That **_**Is**_** the Point.**

_Why do they torture me so_

_Nightmares that come and go_

_And continue to grow_

_I cannot know._

_~Janet Bond: Nightmares_

Rebecca yawned. It was—she fished her phone out of her pocket—almost one in the morning. The bottle of wine in front of her was not quite full anymore, but she wasn't drunk. A little fuzzy. And warm and very comfortable on Stark's leather couch.

They'd been talking for hours, Stark discussing his technology and Rebecca telling him about how she'd attained her knowledge, about Leah, and how her flat now seemed so big. Sometime after _his_ bottle had become half empty, he'd decided it was a good idea to eat half of the muffins, which had resulted in his insisting he was fine after having thrown up. Rebecca had only giggled.

How easily they'd got involved in a conversation. She couldn't explain it, really. Maybe the drinks had something to do with it. Maybe she just liked his witty sense of humour and sarcastic remarks, maybe his talking about computers reminded her on Leah a little too much, maybe they were both crazy. How else could two supposedly sensible adults who barely knew each other have ended up watching Disney's cartoons at one in the morning?

Who cared.

Her eyelids were too heavy to keep them open. With the last ounce of will, she put her glass onto the club table, and snuggled against the couch.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Something was different. She was aware of that even as the familiarity of her surroundings tried to convince her otherwise. When she looked into the mirror, it was the same hall looking back at her. There was no heat crawling through her body, on the contrary, she thought it was a little cold, but it might as well have been a result of some other need. Being aware of that fact belonged to this place. Wearing a new dress, this time a simple black one that pooled around her knees, was a part of the established routine as well, and its style even matched the ones other people were wearing—

People.

She was no longer alone. The hall was filled with chatter, laughter was echoing from the walls, light reflecting in so many eyes. They seemed to be having a good time, this sea of smiles and hand gestures.

Rebecca felt cold. Their warmth didn't reach her. Maybe it would if somebody talked to her. But no one approached. Occasionally, somebody would cast a brief glance in her direction before their gazes drifted forward, stopped somewhere else, and continued flickering with light.

Not for her.

They knew she was here, all of them, but didn't care, ascertained her presence but failed to acknowledge it.

She didn't approach them either; the message was clear. She was not wanted here. Tolerated, yes, perhaps even accepted, but not desired. Never desired.

Slowly, her limbs began to treble from cold, and she tightly wound her arms around her torso. All she wanted was for these people to share some of their warmth.

They gave her none.

And with the feeling of loneliness settling in her chest came an even worse cold, a feeling of frost spreading through her insides. Brown eyes flitted around as she desperately searched for even a small smile despite everything, an anchor to save herself.

There was none.

Her legs gave out and she dropped onto her knees like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Fine.

_Fine_.

She didn't need their smiles. Or warm looks. Or kindness, or compassion. She didn't need _them_.

Something white-hot blossomed behind her breast bone, spreading, hot enough to burn her. Still, the cold didn't cease its assault. A moment after the initial shock came the sensation of being ripped apart from the inside, and she cried out in pain.

Just like that, all eyes were on her. Their faces were no longer nice; predatory glares bored holes through her, vicious sneers caused cold sweat to trickle down the back of her neck.

She'd disturbed their pretty routine, and they were coming for her.

Somehow, she managed to get back on her feet only to stagger backwards until her back collided with the cool surface of the cheval glass and she had nowhere left to back away. She was choking on dread, and when she coughed, blood stained her lips. Her innards were tearing, her eyes wide, breathing erratic.

They were coming for her. She didn't know what they'd do, but her imagination was like a dog that had torn free from its leash. It would not be good. It would be dreadful, and painful, and she would be powerless to resist, powerless to avoid her fate, which had been decided long before she knew it …

There was no way out.

Except death.

But even death was elusive. She couldn't make it come faster. Instead, she would have to die slowly, surrounded by the mob and yet alone, all alone amid all these people …

Tears spilled down her cheeks. Whatever strength she'd had left, the last thoughts had drained it.

Die alone.

_Alone_.

So lonely it hurt.

So lonely it was destroying her.

"Please …" She tried to blink her tears away.

Nobody had heard.

She saw twisted smiles and gleaming eyes, and their laughter screamed _blood blood blood._

She pressed her back against the glass, wishing it could swallow her. The first hand reached out towards her, fingers bent like claws, and she trashed her head to a side and _screamed_—

~*oO*o*Oo*~

"Rebecca! Rebecca!"

Somebody was holding her hand. She squeezed it, as if her life depended on it. Brown eyes similar to hers stared down, but everything else was just a blur of darkness …

"Please," she whispered feverishly. "I don't want to die alone."

"You're not going to die."

Of course she was, couldn't they see it?

"They're going to tear me apart, they—They—"

She blinked, then did it again.

There was no hall, no mirror, no black dresses, no crowd. It was only her, lying on a couch, and Stark, leaning over her, deep lines of worry twisting his brow.

Another nightmare.

_Another .Nightmare._

"Oh, God." Rebecca pressed her palms against her face. Hot tears fought their way between her fingers. It was only a dream, and she shouldn't be crying, but those dreams had left her on the verge of tears way too many times, and all the alcohol she'd had, along with the still-lingering dread, was enough to make her come undone. She sobbed, curled into a ball, while memories of previous nightmares resurfaced, leaving her a trembling, weeping mess. All the feelings she'd been forced through, all the terrible things she'd done to herself...

"Shhh."

A hand started rubbing circles into her shoulder, and she felt the couch sink under Stark's weight.

"You're awake now. It's going to be okay."

Rebecca sucked in a shaky breath.

"No. It's not." She swiped at her face and looked up at him. "I've been having these dreams since I left here. I'm sure they won't just go away. I don't know why, but—I'm gonna be sick!"

She barely had the time to lean over the couch before she threw up, right onto the expensive carpet. Did Stark even have a not-expansive piece of furniture? She didn't want to know what kind of look he was giving her now, but from the way he was holding her hair away she concluded it couldn't be so bad. After all, if he wasn't going to throw her over the balcony for helping Loki, he wasn't going to do it for destroying a carpet, either. She hoped.

Stark sighed. "Come on, let's clean you up."

He grabbed Rebecca around her waist and pulled her to her feet.

"Jarvis, send somebody up to clean this. I don't want to step into it next time I'm here. And remind them to fix my penthouse. Here." He offered Rebecca a Kleenex. "You want ice cream?"

"No, thanks."

"Ow, come on, it helps. It's like one of those miraculous inventions that make everything better."

"I just threw up," she reminded him as he stirred her into a bathroom.

"Oh, right. No ice cream then. No muffins, no alcohol … I'm almost out of ideas."

Rebecca rolled her eyes. She leaned over the sink to wash her mouth, then reached for a towel. She caught her reflection in the mirror when she straightened. So much for beauty sleep.

"So, what do you feel like doing now? And no more Disney, it gives you nightmares."

Rebecca couldn't really focus on the joke. Stark seemed to know she wouldn't be falling sleep again anytime soon.

"Forgetting," she muttered.

He sighed.

"Let me rephrase—what do you usually do?"

Sneak into Leah's room with a blanket around her shoulders, and go through files on her computer over and over again until pictures of them, and Tiger, and all the places they'd been, make her cry if the dreams hadn't before?

She shrugged.

Stark didn't say anything.

Then, she asked, "What should I do?"

It was his turn to shrug. His voice sounded too old when he spoke.

"Pepper was my saviour. If not for her, I would have spent many more nights drinking. But nothing really helps. Save time, I guess."

Afghanistan. She'd heard of it_. Anthony Stark, the Merchant of Death, kidnapped by Ten Rings, escaped in style. The Iron Man was born._

She spent a moment considering her answer. Offering consolations seemed out of place.

"I'm not dreaming about the past," she said at last, and leaned her hip against the sink. Her fingers found her pendant on their own accord. "I think, at least. 's always the same thing. Same pattern. I want something I can't get, and then my emotions transform into physical responses. I mean, I bleed, or start suffocating, or something. Then, I panic and want control, but that only makes it worst. And in the end, I know I'm dying, and the moment of my death is the only thing left I can control, so I kill myself."

She took a deep breath, found Stark's eyes for a moment, and looked away.

"This time, there were people around. But I was still alone. Lonely. And they were going to kill me, and I couldn't even … Couldn't … I was afraid. It was terrible. All of it. But I …" She bit her lip. "I have a feeling I'm missing something."

"You want to pinpoint the reason for your dreams?"

"Yeah, sure. Not just that, though. I feel like there's something I should know. Not find out, but know already. Like … Something isn't there, but it's supposed to be, if you know what I mean. A piece that would complete a puzzle."

"Wonderful feeling."

"Yeah. Very." How she loved sarcasm. "It could be a memory. Could be information. Knowledge. I don't know. I don't think I'm overseeing something. I'm just literally missing it. Like … Like there's an empty space that's supposed to be filled, yet it's empty. It was filled before, and I need it filled again."

Stark frowned at that. "Is this still about the dreams?"

She shook her head once. "I don't think so. The nightmares … They carry a different sort of emptiness with them ..."

Stark's burrow hadn't smoothed out yet. He must have been thinking. At last, he gestured to follow him out of the bathroom.

"You're sure it's not connected to the alien attack?"

"And this is just a polite way of asking if I'm traumatised over my sister's death? Affected, yes. Of course I am. But I had my share of nightmares after my parents died, and it was always about them. This is not about Leah. She hasn't appeared once. It's like … It's like going through the whole spectre of destructive emotions, or better yet, of how to manipulate somebody into suicide by using emotions, or—"

_Manipulate?_

Rebecca froze. The voice sent a shiver down her spine, and Stark. Had not. Said. That.

_You have seen nothing yet …_

She tried to breathe evenly. Stark was staring at her, but she couldn't focus on him, not with the giant spider lurking _right above his head_, and was that—_where did the snakes come from they were enormous this could not be happening tigers didn't coexist with snakes and spiders and dragons were just not real no no no no!_

She stumbled backwards, gasping for breath. Her body was cold from terror. Why was Stark just standing there? Wasn't he afraid? Why wasn't he afraid?!

"Rebecca?"

She barely registered his voice.

"What's wrong?"

Wrong?

There were … _things_ all over the hallway, and the ceiling was cracking, the walls pressing in, everything was wrapped in darkness, and she couldn't see the creatures anymore, only their silhouettes, and not seeing made it so much worse …

Something sleek brushed her ankle.

She sucked in a breath.

And _screamed_.


	12. Chapter 12: Realms, And Barren Moons

A/N: Sorry for the wait ... My mind is in a million different places ...

Part I: Two Steps From Hell—White Witch (softly)

* * *

**Chapter XII–Realms, And Barren Moons, And Crevices**

'_Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy,_

_Find out some uncouth cell,_

_Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings_

_And the night-raven sings_

_~John Milton: L'Allegro_

A drop of blood painted the back of her right hand. Only a drop.

She twitched like something had bitten her. Her thumb smeared the droplet.

Only smooth, unblemished skin stared back at her.

Rebecca stumbled backwards. Her heart was skyrocketing, and she was so, so scared.

There was blood with no source, and she hadn't gone to sleep before it had happened. If her dreams were to become reality …

Angry barking diverted her gaze to a rabid dog. The beast was large, larger than any dog she'd seen so far, with blazing eyes, seething, and it reminded her on the Hound of Baskerville way too much, but that was only a book, and an imaginary dog couldn't hurt her, but this one, this one was suddenly so close, and then she was lying, snakes gliding over her arms and legs as if to hold them down, and the dog was sending puffs of its putrid breath straight into her face; no amount of trashing and squirming helped, saliva slid down sharp fangs and dripped onto her neck, marking the path for the fangs to take …

She was still lying. A cold surface pressed against her back. Her palms spread over tiles.

Silence was so heavy she was afraid to open her eyes and look around.

Breathing was a necessity. She couldn't forego it. Even when it felt wrong to interrupt the quiet.

And then, there was ticking.

So soft she would never have heard it if not for the unnatural, utter absence of sounds.

Slowly, she propped herself on an elbow, and her eyelids slid open. The place was nowhere new for her, yet it didn't feel like it should. She couldn't think of any way "home" could be among the words to describe it.

But it was her home. Only … bigger. Empty. Uninhabited. The walls were bare, furniture untouched, vases empty; she feared looking into the fridge, because it was clear as day—nobody lived here.

But she did. Didn't she?

Why was she here?

Where were the creatures, and what have they done to Stark?

Rebecca stood up.

Was this—

Before she could finish the thought, the walls _moved_. She nearly jumped, eyes flitting around like those of a deer in headlights. The room was contracting, and suddenly it was so hard to breathe in there. With every inch the walls claimed, another breath became harder to suck in, until her lungs burned with need for oxygen and there was broken furniture that had no space to properly stand anymore. She had maybe twenty seconds before she'd be squeezed.

Why?

Rebecca climbed onto the table and spread her arms on an impulse of self-preservation.

Her nails scratched the paint, making her cringe. Muscles tightened.

She couldn't hold the walls away.

Her elbows bent under the force.

Where was all the furniture now?

Concrete touched her shoulders.

And there was blood.

She was sitting in it.

In a car.

The backseats.

She knew that highway. And she knew …

"Mum?" Rebecca's eyes widened considerably. "Dad?"

"Becky, honey, we'll be there soon," said her mum, and a chill ran down Rebecca's spine.

This was too familiar.

She swallowed.

"But Leah is waiting."

She had to say that. She'd done so once, and she had to know.

The whole car was covered in blood.

"Leah will be fine," said her father and briefly turned backwards before she could shout at him not to do it. It was but a moment, really.

Then, his eyes were on the road again, hands firmly placed on the steering wheel.

"What if she has eaten all the cake?" Rebecca pressed. She felt like she was reading a carefully written script. A good one. Because it worked. All you needed was a car, a married couple, and a ten year old daughter returning home from a visit at friends'. Then, you added a truck which was suddenly turned over and blocking the way.

Nobody had ever seen it coming.

She felt no impact, but the front of the car was smashed for good, and blood was everywhere, her parents', her own, nobody in particular's, it was simply blood, but she'd just lost her parents for the second time, and she needed air and _I want my parents back please I can't lose them tell me it's not my fault I'm sorry I don't want to be alone I don't want to be alone I don't want to be alone please no more no more darkness I need to see I need life I didn't mean it like that nomoresomebodyhelpme!_

It all disappeared, slowly melted into darkness. There were no limitations to the place, no ground, no nothing, only darkness littered by weak spots of light too far away, and here and there some eerie blue-ish mist floated in the middle of nothing but vast dark space.

She was cold immediately. There was enough air to fill her lungs, still breathing came impossibly hard. Something was wrong with this place. It lacked life. Not inhabitants, _life_. Death was holding it in its claws, breathing icy puffs all over it, and yet there was no wind.

There was nothing.

A nothingness that wanted to be _something._

Wanted so badly, it was trying to pull the life straight out of her.

It fed on her soul.

"Rebecca …"

What a soft word, so familiar, so reliable.

It cut like a knife.

Because the voice was all wrong.

She turned reluctantly, terror rising in her gut for no apparent reason. So, intuition existed; there, it was now proven once and for all. Because she had no reason to fear Leah. Nevertheless, her gut was twisting.

The face was right, all the soft lines, the gentle curve of her cheeks where dimples used to appear, the perfectly straight hair Rebecca had always equally envied and admired, a small brown birthmark next to her right eyebrow.

"You left me."

The voice was right, too.

"You never came."

"Leah …"

Rebecca swallowed. She wished it was anger marring her sister's features; that she could handle. But it was all pain, pain, disappointment, accusation, pain.

"I came." Her throat felt parched. "I was there. You saw me. Leah, _I was there_. And now, I'm here. I'll always be."

"No. You don't care. You left me to die. You never came."

Leah's hiss reminded her on shattered glass too much. The accusation was so fierce, so broken, and Rebecca realised it wasn't even in her features where emotions held reign; it was the voice that shook ever so slightly, the hands that flexed into fists and uncurled just as fast, in the eyes that were just a little too wild and—

Wrong.

The eyes were all wrong.

For a moment, she only stared.

Stepped back.

Then, she slowly put one foot forwards.

And the other.

Left.

Right.

Left.

She swallowed.

And did it again.

Her gaze wouldn't move.

She saw Leah's lips part, twitch, close silently, but this wasn't Leah.

This wasn't real.

One more step.

Nobody had eyes like that.

One more chance to swallow, as if it would somehow stop her throat from closing up.

"It's too late now."

The whisper swirled around Rebecca's ears.

"It has always been too late."

But she shook her head.

"It's never too late."

God, she was crazy.

"I'm here."

She tried to smile, but what came out was probably the worst failure in the history of smile-attempts.

"I said I would come. And I did."

"No." Hazel strands hit the shoulders, once, twice. "No … You didn't …"

Rebecca pulled her lower lip from between her teeth, took a deep breath, and closed the distance. She wrapped her arms around her sister's frame. Body heat seeped through her clothes. Her nose was filled with an unfamiliar scent when she inhaled.

"You're right," she said softly, hoping it would cover the way her voice shook. "I didn't say that. But I'm here."

She felt muscles tense against her body. A ribcage moving too quickly with too shallow breaths.

"What is this place?"

"What do you think it is?"

"Space?" she tried. She could hardly say death.

"A nightmare."

"'s not so scary."

Rebecca had never heard such a humourless chuckle before. It made the hairs on her back stand on end.

She felt cold lips brush against her earlobe.

"Keep your eyes open."

That was all the warning she ever got. The not-ground opened beneath her feef, she lost her grip, and fell. Leah's figure remained somewhere above for a moment, and then it was gone like everything else, there was only falling, falling, an endless twirl of darkness, and bone-deep cold, and death, and she kept plummeting, always down, only down.

There were no more clear pictures, no more scenes; she was caught in a vortex consisting of snippets of this and that. For a heartbeat longer, gravitation kept pulling her downwards. There was a flash of blinding light, the force of the explosion knocked the air out of her lungs.

Glimpses of a strange mixture of flesh and metal.

A shrieking sound.

She was kneeling at the bottom of golden stairs.

Someone was choking her.

Darkness.

Pain.

Her back burned, and she would scream had her throat not been so raw.

Laughter only filled her with disgust.

It was cold. Snowflakes melted on her hair.

A raspy voice made her cringe more that nails scratching a wall ever could.

"… fail …"

Fail …

Fail …

Sharp pain exploded in the side of her neck.

She was running. Hooves made the ground tremble.

"Destroy everything …"

She didn't mean it.

She wanted to stop falling.

Emptiness was devouring her.

A grip that would leave bruises on her hips.

Chains rattled.

Cold breath washed over her left ear.

She'd ever seen such a face, unnatural, too flat, strangely coloured. She feared that grin.

Her eyes turned up, begging.

"No …"

Something broke.

And angry growl made her step back.

"… unworthy …"

There were children playing.

A blade pierced her skin, cut muscle and sinew just above her left clavicle.

Darkness.

Cold.

Pain.

Falling.

Help me.

She coughed. Blood filled her mouth. She wanted to retch.

I'm here.

Pain, pain, pain.

Raw screaming.

Terror shook her body.

Falling.

Claws, and gleaming eyes, and despair.

Something golden.

A chair?

Someone sitting.

Family.

There was no family.

She was going to die. From horror, from agony, from cold …

She _was_ the cold.

Blood filled her vision.

Falling, falling, falling.

She was being ripped apart.

Falling.

Her vocal cord snapped.

Falling.

Looking up, up, _always up_ …

Falling.

Falling.

Pain.

Falling.

And then she crashed.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Funny, how she would sometimes bolt uprights when she tore free of a nightmare's claws. How she would gasp for air other times, or sometimes even scream, or she would just snap her eyes open and turn around to reach for the light.

This time, she found her eyes opened already, soft cushions against her back, and the familiar lounge room all around. Cold sweat was cooling her skin. She didn't move a single muscle.

"Hey, Blue Jay."

Stark's voice was soft and careful. He was leaning over her, and behind him stood another man whom Rebecca didn't know. His hair was rebelliously wavy and slowly greying.

"Are you with me now?"

She gave a small nod. "Why is it Blue Jay now?"

Stark shrugged. "Your hair is blue." Then, he gestured over his shoulder. "This is Bruce Banner. He's currently staying in Stark tower."

"The one you think does Pilates?"

It should really sound like a joke, but her voice was empty and her face expressionless.

"That very one. He's sort of a doctor. Saves lives in some godforsaken town unless SHIELD SSHIELDIELD drags him back to civilisation."

Banner's smile was tight, but Rebecca forced one onto her lips, too. It was nothing but a movement of muscles, though.

"Hi."

"I thought I'd need his help. You looked like you were having an attack. Or maybe sleepwalking. With open eyes. You do creepy stuff, Hummingbird."

"Hummingbird?" Banner finally spoke. "Clint won't appreciate not being the only bird around."

"He's not around. Look, Rebecca Reed—was that okay for you, Shrek?—what just happened?"

"A nightmare," she muttered.

"How could you have fallen asleep in the middle of our conversation?" Stark's pout was so fake it was cute. She would have laughed if she'd remembered how.

"I … don't think I was asleep."

She swallowed and tried to find her voice, but it remained elusive. "It was horrible. I don't even … Dunno what it was, but … The end, that was … Everything together. There was pain."

That last bit triggered something inside her mind, still, she couldn't tell what it was. Something moved a little closer to the surface, but it remained buried nonetheless.

Both men frowned. Of course, they didn't understand. Hell, she didn't either. But she knew one thing: no human had eyes that green.

She must have pissed Loki off really, really badly.

No, wait, she knew one other thing, too: he knew _exactly_ what made people sick with fear, terror, and pain.

Banner was about to ask something, she knew by the way his lips parted and he sucked in a breath, but it was Jarvis' voice that took reign over the momentary silence.

"The scans are completed, sir. The energy signature differs from all the other samples. It is the closest to the Cube."

The scientists exchanged a Look before the word left their mouths simultaneously.

"Loki."

"Jarvis, can you trace it to its origin?"

"Not without further algorithms, sir."

Stark sighed, although he looked anything but defeated. There was a spark in his eyes only a new challenge could bring. They weren't in the dark anymore. They would find Loki.

Not knowing why, she pushed the thought away.

Her mind was closing off. She was so very tired, exhausted even, unable to function.

"You okay there?"

"Yeah …" she murmured to Stark. "Just lemme sleep …"

The couches were so soft, inviting her to give in to fatigue. She had no strength left to fight.

For the first time that week, her sleep was dreamless.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

He didn't know when, but at some point something had gone terribly wrong.

Loki was trembling slightly. The nerve in his leg had knitted together enough for him to have feeling in it from time to time; he preferred the times he didn't. His mouth was parched, lips cracked. Usually, he would have used his magic to ensure this nuisance was no longer a problem. Not this time.

His eyes were screwed shut, and he fought to steady his breathing.

How could he have allowed for a slip in his control?

But the woman, that thrice damned mortal …

She hadn't been supposed to say all those things. She'd been supposed to break, and cry, and scream, until it drove her crazy.

Most of all, she had _not_ been supposed to hug him.

He'd wanted her to hurt. And he knew enough about things that could unmake braver men. Women. Whatever. He knew of horrors. He'd let them form a film just for her. There had only been one problem; he'd been pulled right into it, too. The memories were all too fresh; his control had failed, and he'd found himself caught in his own stupid fears.

His very special living nightmare.

Everything he'd wanted to put behind or push aside had forced its way over the wall he'd built. Once again, his plan had backfired.

But the woman …

_Rebecca_, his mind supplied.

He ignored it.

The woman … She couldn't have known it was him, standing in the midst of the illusion. She seemed smart enough to have figured out her nightmares had to be more than just that. After all, one did not have nightmares while awake. Save in some cases, which was of no importance now. And that was perfect, her knowing something was amiss; what was the purpose of getting revenge if the victim didn't know what hit them?

He sighed, cursed his damn pride that demanded revenge before healing his body completely, and pressed his palms over his face.

The wetness on his cheeks was just cold sweat.

Nothing more.

* * *

A/N: Kudos if you know where the title comes from. Extra kudos if you review ^^


	13. Chapter 13: Come Morning Sun

_Part III: Maksim Mrvica—Hana's Eyes (and perhaps Taylor Swift—Safe And Sound)_

* * *

**Chapter XIII–Come Morning Sun**

_Doth not sun rise smiling_

_When fair at ev'n he sets?_

_Rest you then, rest, sad eyes,_

_Melt not in weeping,_

_While she lies sleeping_

_Softly, now softly lies_

_Sleeping._

_~Anonymous: Weep You No More, Sad Fountains_

Rebecca awoke to a sound of voices. They seemed to be trying to stay low, but every now and then some of them wandered a couple of decibels away. She recognised Stark speaking but couldn't make out the words; he was one of those who succeeded in being quiet. There was one more male voice, harsher, and what had to be two female ones, one of which might or might not have been Pepper's.

A headache greeted her when she propped herself on her elbows, and she wasn't sure Stark's wine was entirely to blame. A groan escaped her lips. The conversation suddenly came to a halt.

"Oh, Sleeping Beauty." Stark grinned at her widely, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "How did you sleep?"

Rebecca groaned again. "Can we please go back to Blue Jay?"

"It depends. How did you sleep?"

"How's that even connected?"

Stark shrugged. "It's not. You mind answering me?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. I slept fine. Really," she added when Stark eyes her sceptically. "Stop looking at me like that, you—"

Her gaze travelled to the right of him where a tall blond man stood, all muscles and clear blue eyes, and her jaw remained hanging in the air for a blink of an eye. He looked so familiar. Not because she'd seen him before—and she had, he'd been kneeling next to Loki after the elevator episode—but because he looked so much like someone else. If only she knew who, if only—

The nightmare. Illusion. That golden chair and the man sitting on it. She'd only had a moment to look at the picture then, but seeing the blond guy brought the image back. The man on the chair (throne? Was it a throne?) had been much older, but there was an unmistakable similarity between the two of them.

"This is Thor," Stark said, as he'd noticed her staring. "You've met before. And this is Jane." He inclined his head towards the brunette at Thor's side. She looked nice enough, a pretty face and all. The other woman was indeed Pepper.

"Hi," muttered Rebecca and rubbed her eyes before she got up. "Can I get some coffee?"

"Of course." Pepper pointed at the counter.

Ah, a coffee machine. It was already easier to stand on her feet now. Except … There were all those horrible things … And she wasn't sure she's been supposed to see all of them. If the blond guy here was Thor and the older man could only be his father, then she'd seen Odin, the king of Asgard, and why would that scare her?

But he was Loki's father, too.

The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that particular image hadn't been meant for her eyes.

"Everything all right, Birdie?"

"Yeah. Just thinking." She turned the coffee machine on. "You sniffed out Loki yet?"

Pepper's eyebrows arched elegantly and she looked at Stark. "She knows about that?"

"Mhm. And no, I haven't found his burrow yet. Bruce is trying to come up with the exact algorithm we need."

"You were very lucky to have traced his energy at all," commented Jane, which sent Rebecca's eyebrows to the same height Pepper's had been just a moment ago. Hadn't Stark told them just how he'd come across the readings?

She gave him a questionable look. He shook his head so softly she barely noticed.

Now, that was interesting. Yet another puzzle she wanted solved. She reached for her coffee, and her gaze settled on Thor. Asgard. Legends. All the things she could write. How had he even ended up on Earth anyway? Would he mind being interviewed?

Probably. Nobody liked to have people intruding on their lives. Well hell.

"Lady Rebecca?"

Thor was returning her gaze now, and she mentally slapped herself for having stared.

"Are you all right?"

"Mm. So, you're a god? Can you die?"

She just earned another mental slap. But she wanted to _know_.

To her surprise, Thor laughed. "You remind me of Darcy," he said loudly. "Jane's friend."

"'s that a good thing?"

"Opinions differ," Jane answered for him.

"Mhm." She turned her attention back to Thor. "_Can_ you die?"

"Everyone can die. I'm afraid we are no exceptions, even if we like to boast with our indestructibility."

The weird clenching in her gut told her she didn't like that answer. She would have replied, hadn't Jon Bon Jovi's voice filled the air, and she fished the phone out of her pocket. Silently cursing, she answered Ashley's call.

"You coming?" she heard.

"Um, yeah, about that … I kinda slept in. Sorry. Give me half an hour."

Ashley grumbled something under her breath, but it ended with "fine," and then the connection was cut. Rebecca sighed.

"Why didn't anyone wake me up?" she asked Stark.

"You were sleeping," he shrugged.

"I _know_. That's the problem."

"But you looked so peaceful."

Rebecca was just about to roll her eyes and utter a "Let's not get cute, alright?" when she figured out what exactly he'd meant. She'd been sleeping soundly, no nightmares, and wow, was that concern from Tony Stark?

"Um, thanks. Gotta get going, though." She put the coffee mug down and headed for the door, but Stark grabbed her upper arm.

"I'll tell Happy to drive you."

That was … unexpected. "Thanks? Again." She lowered her voice. "But why?"

"You brought me on Loki's trail."

"Nope. He did. And I think I owed you. Big time."

"Fine. Look, I know how it is to have nightmares, okay?"

Her editor would die to get that kind of words out of Tony Stark's mouth. She really would. But now that it had happened, Rebecca knew they only belonged into the ears of a very few people, and certainly not onto pages of a newspaper. She was having trouble writing anyway. It was a good thing she was supposed to work on less important things.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

The silent drive was the perfect time to lose herself in thoughts. Maybe if she worked the illusions over, took them apart, analysed them, they would appear less terrifying.

A woman could hope.

She pressed her palm to the window, almost expecting a scolding from her father. His car had always been spotless. But now, there was nothing but silence, and suddenly she was so, so glad she'd agreed to help Ashley. Not that refusing had ever been an option she'd considered; you just didn't refuse friends when they needed a favour. For all she knew, she might be moving soon, too.

She told Happy to thank Stark for her again, and entered the building. It wasn't really tall, only a few floors. Rebecca headed for the stairs. Movement helped a little with her nerves.

Could Loki read her mind? How else could he have known about her parents? That drive in the car had been the same to the point, save for her, like someone had written a script. It was creepy. Her mind was supposed to be her own, her sanctuary. _Hers_. No exceptions. Even thinking about it made her feel violated.

Absent-mindedly, she pulled a chopstick out of her pocket and applied it to her lips with a used-to gesture, then stuffed it back.

It had been about fears, it had to be. But. She was not afraid of spiders. Nonetheless, a spider had been the first thing to appear. And there had been no wasps, although they scared the shit out of her. _Could_ Loki read her mind?

She stopped. There were no more stairs to ascend and only one door at the top floor. This was the sixth floor, right, or had she lost the count? There was certainly no name on the door, but she couldn't remember whether Ashley had said there was one or not. Sighing, she fished out her phone. It rang once, twice, then—

"Beck? You here?"

"Sort of. Is sixth floor on the top?"

"Nope. That's the seventh, nobody's up there. Counting, Beck, people learn that in the first grade."

The journalist feigned indignation. "Have you any idea how many years ago that was?"

"Sure. I _can_ count. Are you coming down?"

"Yeah." Rebecca wished Ashley's sense of humour was more like her own. Well hell.

Without another word she hung up and descended again. This time, Ashley was standing beside an open door, Maya—Rebecca only knew her vaguely—hovering behind her. She grinned, received a similar greeting, and they hugged and stumbled into the apartment.

Rebecca's first impression was stuffed. When she looked again, it changed to cosy. Things were everywhere, almost every piece of furniture different, colours too, but despite the lack of order, there was some system in this chaos, and that made the place feel homelike. A giant pile of boxes in the corner spoiled the impression, though, but that was what she was here for.

"So,"—she looked at Ashley—"business first, fun later?"

"Well, congratulations if you manage to keep it that way," said Maya before Ashley could even open her mouth, and snickered. Rebecca did, too.

"Trust me," she said and nodded towards her friend. "We'll get her to work."

~*oO*o*Oo*~

And they did. It was way into the afternoon when the boxes were finally empty, and the three women curled on the armchairs, sipping some organic tea. Rebecca didn't know what kind. That was Maya's domain; she worked at a tea shop and knew all the different sorts by heart.

"Next Sunday."

"Hm?" Ashley lifted her gaze towards Rebecca.

"The service for Leah. I figured I could take some time, since there's … You know. I'll send the official invitation."

God, how she hated doing this. You were supposed to invite people to happy events, weddings and birthdays alike, not funerals. Just calling it "invitation" left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth.

"I'll be there," Ashley confirmed softly, and Rebecca murmured,

"Thank you. I, um, should get going now."

"Sure. Thanks for coming."

She nodded, picked up her jacket, and headed for the door.

"You want me to walk you down?"

Rebecca shook her head. "I'll be fine. I can hardly miss the exit, right?" she said cheerfully, though her smile was only half genuine. But she supposed it was nearly impossible to be truly happy after the week she'd just had. So, she hugged Ashley goodbye, promised to call, and watched the doors close. Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair, regretting the action when strands came loose, and then just gave up on the ponytail altogether. She reached for her chopstick.

But the only thing in the pocket was her phone.

"Great," she muttered under her breath. She'd lost it somewhere in the apartment. Or no, she had taken out her phone when she'd been at the wrong floor. Maybe she'd lost it then. Somehow, walking up a set of stairs seemed more appealing than bothering Ashley and Maya again.

She shook her head. All this had really messed her up. She'd never been a fan of too much company, but she'd never felt such an urge to stop trying to be with people and just be alone.

She shouldn't be thinking too hard about it. It wasn't like it could help. And she was lucky; her chopstick was lying on the doormat in front of that plain white door. She allowed herself a small half-smile, crouched to pick it up—

And frowned.

That dark stain there, was that blood?

Yeah, right. That was just paranoia speaking. She'd simply seen too much blood lately.

She straightened back up. But then, her eyes fell on the door knob, and she couldn't deny the stains there. Maybe it was dirt covering the doormat, but this—this was most definitely blood.

A cold hand clenched her gut, her heart sped up behind her breastbone.

Empty apartments did not have blood-smeared doorknobs.

For a moment, she was torn between the instinct to run as far as possible, and the urge to yield to her curiosity, before she slowly turned the doorknob. So what if her self-preservation instinct was a little messed up. There was no one to call her on it.

Moving as silently as possible, she slipped through the cleft and found herself in a small floor. There were no signs of the place being inhabited; the walls were bare, a single piece of furniture covered with a thin layer of dust, and Rebecca would have easily believed this was no more than an ordinary, empty apartment, if it hadn't been for the palm-shaped crimson stain on the wall from which a smeared line led towards another door. It was blood. Dried, but blood.

Swallowing her fear, she tentatively moved forward. The room she entered was the living room, extending into the kitchen. It was in the same unlived-in state as the floor, with bare walls and only two big couches facing the opposite direction, a wardrobe, and a completely empty bookcase. She didn't waste time on any of it. Scarce splotches of blood disturbed the dusty monotony of the laminate floor, and breathing, strained and ragged, filled her ears.

_Breathing_.

This was a bad idea. Very bad idea. Who knew what kind of a madman she could find? What if she got attacked?

But the person was obviously hurt. He (or she? It sounded more like a man's breathing.) might need help. Besides, a hurt person couldn't do quite as much damage, right?

She dexterously ignored the fact this was total bullshit, bit her lip, and quietly planted one foot in front of the other until she came around the couches.

And staggered back, just back, with hands pressed over her mouth, until her back hit the wall and she nearly jumped. Her pulse was sent into heights, fear cold in her stomach.

This was unbelievable.

The entire SHIELD plus half of the Avengers were looking for Loki, and she happened to accidently stumble upon him, the God of Mischief and whatnot sleeping in an abandoned apartment in the middle of New York. A very ingenious hiding place.

But her sarcasm failed her when she managed to slow her heartbeat down a little and actually look at Loki's sleeping form. He _was_ sleeping, but far from peacefully. He was trashing around, eyes pressed shut too tightly, face contorted like he was in pain, and judging by the amount of blood everywhere, he probably was.

Rebecca made a tentative step closer. Then another. And another.

Sweat glistered on his bloody, dirty face. His dark hair was slick and majorly dishevelled, clothes soaked with blood as well. His right leg was lying at a somewhat strange angle.

She shouldn't be here. What if he woke up? What of his tricks, all the things he'd done to her …?

But she found herself unable to move. The guy was in pain.

Nightmares?

She made yet another step closer, and her eyes settled on pale strikes on his face only tears could have left behind.

_Something_ stirred under the surface, almost there, but still out of reach, like an itch she couldn't scratch.

Loki … looked almost like a week ago, with the same clothes and blood and all. Had he been here since then? She would have washed, she thought, and called someone to help her … But of course, Loki couldn't call anyone. His allies were dead, right?

What the hell had happened to him? She wanted to know, wanted to understand the scene she'd witnessed back in Stark tower and what had she done to deserve the nightmares?

Waking him up to get answers would _not_ be a good idea. She should call the police. Or Stark, that would be even easier—no explaining. She really needed to get his number.

Seconds ticked by, and she was still only staring at Loki's pained expression. Damn it, she wanted to _wake him up_; if his reaction was anything to go by, his dreams were hell. Damn, damn, damn, she was so stupid, but she wanted, and she couldn't, she wanted to see his eyes, she really couldn't, _stupid stupid stupid_—

Loki groaned in pain.

Rebecca swallowed.

Kneeled down.

And slowly, slowly reached out to run a finger down the back of his hand. It trembled beneath her touch.

Twisting her lip between her teeth, she repeated the action. She could feel her pulse in her ears. It was drowning out everything else but Loki's heavy breathing.

She added a second finger. Nothing changed. Tentatively, she slid her palm under his and started rubbing circled on the back of his hand with her thumb, all the while trying to level her own breathing.

What was she doing?!

Loki whimpered and her heart plummeted. Such a pathetic sound, but …

What had Leah done when Rebecca'd started crying in the middle of the night because her mind had been in that car again and she'd wanted her parents? Memories crept forwards; a soft touch, warm blankets, soothing voice …

Her free hand shook when she ran her knuckles over his brow, down his cheek, up again. The scab felt ragged beneath her touch, but the rest of his skin was smooth and cold.

"Shhh …"

She took a deep breath, trying to hold her voice even as she whispered,

"'s okay … Just a dream …"

Her hand wandered through his hair on its own accord, then found his cheek again. Loki's breath caught in his throat, and he leaned into the touch like this was exactly how it was supposed to be, her fingers on his scratched cheek. The muscles of his face relaxed slightly. His breathing deepened.

Rebecca leaned closer, hands never ceasing the motion. Her mouth was suddenly parched, and she trembled all over, nerves on edge, but slowly, almost in time with Loki's breathing, she was starting to calm down. At some point, she found herself half humming half whispering something that could, under the right circumstances, resemble Simple Plan's How Could This Happen to Me, but the only thing she cared about was the gentle sound resulting from it, soothing for them both.

Loki's muscles relaxed, his features turning softer despite their sharp angular form, body becoming almost boneless in a way.

Rebecca leaned closer. He looked like shattered glass: sharp, and angular, and deadly, but broken. Her fingers found his pulse on the inner side of his wrist, as slow as it should be in his state.

She stopped humming and sighed instead. Her feet were going numb from sitting on them, and the dryness of her mouth wasn't making her feel any better. With any luck, there was still water in the pipes. Turning her eyes to the adjoined kitchen, she pushed herself up. On step, two, three, and she stopped, casting a glance back at the sleeping god.

Half a moment later, her lip was viciously twisted between her teeth.

Loki's breathing filled her ears, interlacing with the beating of her heart.

She was a hopeless case.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, coincidences, yadda yadda ... Thank you all for reading XD


	14. Chapter 14: Three Shots of Tequila And

A/N: Thank you for alerts and faves!

* * *

**Chapter XIV—Three Shots of Tequila and Then You Lose Count**

_But that is nothing to the poison flow_

_Out of your eyes, those round_

_Green lakes in which my soul turns upside-down …_

_To these my dreams all go_

_At these most bitter gulfs to drink it down._

_~Baudelaire: Poison_

Rebecca was walking. Striding. If she'd taken the underground, she'd have driven other passengers nuts with tapping her foot or drumming against her knee with her fingers. But moving was a necessity. People-shaped forms drifted by like fish in the sea, some bumping into her shoulder (maybe she was at fault), some barely brushing against her jacket. She never apologised. Let them think her rude. What did she care.

By the time the streets spelled "home" for her, she was panting, her sleeves rolled up, jacket undone, and hair tied up anew. And for the first time since Leah's death, her apartment came across as too small. She needed room, needed movement, needed an outlet for the horrible restlessness gnawing at her heart and tugging at her limbs.

She had not … She wasn't … Loki'd been …

The mattress bent under her weight, hair scattered over white sheets. She rolled onto a side. Kicked off her shoes. One of them hit the wardrobe door.

This wasn't working. She had to do something to relax, because _she had just comforted Loki in his slee,p and that could not have really happened_!

But she knew better than to try denying truths.

So what if she'd done it. Nobody liked bad dreams. Forget manipulation and scaring the hell out of somebody, Loki had saved her life.

Twice.

Rebecca pulled off her socks and flung them across the room where they hit a mirror and fell in two little heaps. Her hand closed around her phone.

There were ways to deal with stress.

She preferred the pleasant ones.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Loki didn't open his eyes right away. His mind was scattered all over the place, and he knew if he looked into a mirror, he'd probably recoil in horror. There was something devastating in seeing one's own eyes filled with haunted shadows.

They objected, but he forced them open eventually. The dirty white ceiling above him, contours of the couch his fingers traced, stiffness in his muscles, all this was reality, something worth clinging to. Tangible things were so much easier to see as an anchor. There was nothing vague, no _supposing_, no doubts.

A grunt escaped him. He had to move; days of lying had done little good against cramps and the like. His bones were healed, moving should come easier now.

Still, he was reluctant to prop himself on an elbow but never got the opportunity to dwell on it. There, right beside where his head had lain on the couch, was a chair, and on it a glass and a pitcher, both filled with water. His body beat his mind; he reached for the glass and poured its contents down his parched throat. Droplets trickled down his chin, but it only felt good, the cool sensation of water against dirty, sweaty skin.

The glass was empty in a matter of second. His grip on the pitcher was a little unsure. Water splashed onto the chair. He ignored it and drank another glass. Only then did his mind begin to work, and he froze, but it might have been too late already.

Water did not appear out of nowhere. Someone had been there. Maybe they still was. Had he been found by SHIELD, had he just walked straight into their trap by drinking whatever poison could be hidden in water, and they would show any minute now to drag him away?

He forced himself uprights, shifted his weight, waited a moment for the world to stop spinning. Walking wasn't so strenuous after all, and he slowly limped through the apartment, cursing the nerve in his leg and scanning the rooms for some unwanted company. There seemed to be none, however. And it made no sense, absolutely no sense, because there were only two options as to what had happened, and none of them involved his being left alone afterwards. If anyone from SHIELD or the Avengers had found him, they'd have taken him with them already. If it had been some unknowing mortal, he'd, firstly, try to wake him up, and secondly, call Midgardian healers or the … police, was it?

Well, there was a slight option of his sleepwalking, but he'd never done it before, no need to start now, and he knew that wasn't what had happened anyway. There were half-conscious memories of a presence somewhere deep in his mind, sensations more than anything tangible.

He'd been dreaming. Trying to survive the nightmares without any more cracks in his sanity. The … There had been …

He swallowed hard.

It had been dark.

He'd been losing the fight.

Until he'd felt a presence, until for the first time, he had not been left alone, until someone had grasped his hand and pulled him out of that hole, and he hadn't needed to be angry anymore, because it had no longer been the only way, because he'd been able to feel and breathe again, and …

Had that really happened? Someone had come here and held his hand?

Laughter bubbled in his throat, so raw and humourless it startled even him. What was he supposed to do with reality when it no longer made sense?

He leaned on the back of the couch.

Why, why was everything inside him stirring?

He needed to clear his head. And he hoped to whatever gods might not hate him as much as to want him to—no, not a god train of thought. He just hoped there was a working bath in here. Being covered in blood and grime was not something he wanted to be ever again if it could be avoided.

He couldn't do anything about the tears in his clothes, though.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Rebecca poured the second shot of tequila down her throat, with salt and lemon, and all, and whipped her mouth with the back of her hand, starting to hum the same piece of lyrics for what had to be like the thirty-fourth time in the last half an hour.

"_The world is on fire, no one can save me but you …_"

She just had to have heard the damn thing on the radio.

"_Strange what desire will make foolish people do … _"1

Really.

But, what the hell, she was a wreck anyway, what with having got the shit scared out of her and then comforting the very man (god … thing …?) responsible for it, who also happened to be a wanted war criminal. With a ton or two of emotional baggage, if his nightmare was anything to go by. What was a song struck in her head compared to all that?

The doorbell nearly made her jump. She was up in a moment, knocking a chair over in the process, and opened the door with a broad, slightly off, grin.

"Mick, hi …!"

"Becky," he greeted back. "It's been a while."

"Too long." She ushered him inside. "Care for a drink? Why am I asking, of course you do. I've only got tequila, though, no, wait, let's just …"

Rebecca trailed off. She gently shoved him in the direction of the living room before grabbing the bottle from the kitchen, forsaking the glasses and whatnot, and walked after him. The prints her bare soles left on the floor disappeared the next second.

"No glasses?" Mick feigned surprise. "So unlike you."

"Desperate measures for desperate times."

She looked him up and down, all that brown, hair, and eyes, and jacket, almost seeing the muscles right through the layers of fabric, and licked her lips. Mick's eyes watched her intently.

"Straight to the point today, huh?" A grin split his face. "It has been a long time. Come here." He patted his knee. "Or, do I have to get you?"

Rebecca's grin mirrored his one as she moved closer. She straddled him, pressing their bodies together, while her hands pilled off his jacket. It just had to be a cold day, right?

A hand gripped her ass to bring their hips closer, while the other one gently cupped the back of her neck, guiding her into a kiss. It inspired nothing in her, but the heat and Mick's hands were slowly coaxing her body to life. She needed that, the thrill, the heat, the forgetting, only—

"You smoked." She smacked his lips. "Gimme that, I don't want to smell it."

She reached for tequila and flicked its cap onto the couch. The liquid burned her throat. Mick took the bottle, taking a deep gulp, too, before he set it aside. His hand slid under her t-shirt, unhooking her bra.

"You're stressed out," he muttered.

"True."

"Why?"

"'s complicated. Will'ya make it better?"

"Depends." His thumb brushed her chest. "Have you been a good girl?"

Rebecca laughed. Her lips brushed his ear, and she whispered, voice as seductive as she could manage,

"Am I ever?"

Because, no, she wasn't. Good girls did not keep friends with benefits.

She liked benefits.

"I don't know. Are you?"

Their hips brushed. She moaned.

"Suppose you'll have to find out."

His fingers were all over her breasts now, reality was dissipating, and this was good. Let it all fall away, let her be lost in heat just for a while, let it all be better.

Clothes were thrown over her shoulder and ended in sad little heaps all over the floor, kisses were laced with the taste of alcohol (who was there to scold them if they spilled some of it over the couch), sweat was making their skin sleek. She'd been so right not to wear socks. Who wanted to pull sock off another person anyway? Like Mick's socks. Eww. But his chest, that was something else entirely. Kinda fascinating, how good everything tasted. Like his lips on her abdomen. Especially them.

Whoever said men could play women like a violin, though, he clearly had never played one. Oh, she loved what his fingers were doing to her, liked it sooo much, but it was clearly nothing like playing a violin. She had no strings, how could anyone think—

"Ohh."

But maybe _pressing_ was always a good idea.

She raked her nails down his chest, pulled him down to gain access to all that skin. Nibbling seemed like a good idea. On his nipples, maybe. She didn't know. It was _hard_ to think, damnit.

She wasn't certain she wanted to.

And her back arched on its own.

"More, damn," she rasped. "Mick. C'mere."

He obediently leaned down into a kiss, then proceeded to lick her collarbone. Finally he got to the point. She groaned when her insides stretched around him, bucked her hips upwards, because she wanted, that and so much more, and he thrust in, letting sound that originated from deep in his throat escape his lips.

This was good. More than good.

She arched some more. Her fingers dug into his hair and the skin on his back, depending on her hand's position. He was propped on his elbows, lifted just enough that she could see his face clearly, look somewhere deep in those brown eyes …

They weren't right. Too much brown. They shouldn't be like that, it was just wrong. She wanted to get lost in them, to drown in the depths, but they _were just not right _…

She probably frowned.

"Your eyes …"

"Huh? Ahh, what about …?"

Their hips met halfway again.

"They're not … They … They're not … Gh."

What had she wanted to say?

"Brown. Shouldn't be brown."

What exactly?

"'re not really that way …"

Oh gods, oh gods, her head was reeling, she couldn't think with her body going numb with pleasure, so close, gods, no, not gods, she shouldn't …

"What?" groaned Mick through his gasps and moans.

"What? Ahh, hell, I'm … I'm, I … Lll … Arhhh!"

White exploded in her vision. Her body arched off the couch, waves of pleasure washing through her until she felt her body become boneless. She barely registered Mick's further thrusts. He came, too, sometime between the point when her world went white and when he was lying on her like a dead weight. Her eyes fluttered closed. A certain kind of light-headedness settled over her. She buried her fingers in those soft locks that tickled the skin on her neck and inhaled deeply. Stupid alcohol, masking all the other smells. And she wanted to take in the smell, wanted to know where …

But she was so tired. Sleep was wrapping around her like the softest blanket.

She distantly heard Mick whisper something, but that was not important. She wanted something …

Knowing. She wanted to know …

~*oO*o*Oo*~

She was floating in a place so pleasant … Soft, and warm, and safe, somewhere where she didn't have to worry; her body was so heavy, in a good way, everything was in a good way, she could let go now, rest and heal, and nobody would have to tell her where the pain had come from …

She was enveloped by softness. Well, almost. Hard planes of a man's chest were pressed against her back while a hand was gently stroking her hair, so like she'd done it yesterday—

No. No, no, no. Whatever had happened in that apartment, it should remain locked in a high-security volt forever.

"You awake, Becky?"

Ah. Mick. Right.

"No," she muttered back. "What's the time?"

"About four thirty."

Now, that explained why it was so dark in her room. At least, Mick had carried them to the bed; spending the whole night on the couch under him was not the most comfortable thing she could imagine.

She sighed. "Awesome. Now I won't be able to fall asleep again."

"I could help you with that."

He was grinning, he was definitely grinning. And while she would have taken him up on the offer almost any other time, she only groused a half-hearted "no."

"Are you sure?"

Mick propped himself on an elbow and started trailing her neck with his fingertips.

"Yeah."

"Completely sure?"

"Oh, get lost." Without a second thought, she pushed and allowed a giggle to slip past her lips when Mick crashed onto the floor in a heap of limbs and blankets.

"Seriously"—Rebecca ran a hand through her hair—"let's just watch a movie or something."

"Bad girl," he scolded her, but it came out with laughter, and Rebecca felt her body relax. She climbed out of the bed and stalked back into the living room to find clothes. It had certainly been more fun throwing them around then fishing a T-shirt from behind the TV-table.

They settled back onto the couch eventually (and now she absolutely regretted spilling tequila over it, because the whole place reeked, annoying her more than Mick's breath after he'd smoked a whole box of cigarettes at once) and picked Euro Trip, because it was so stupid you didn't even have to try pretending to believe it for a second. It did the trick though—Rebecca didn't have to think.

She was afraid what she might find if she let herself delve into her thoughts.

* * *

A/N: *Gemma Hayes–Wicked Game

Mmm, I kina like that chapter. And yes, Rebecca's got issues ...

Review? Please? Pretty please?


	15. Chapter 15: United in Diversity

A/N: Umm, sorry for the wait. I promise the next chapter will be up faster.

This one ... Well, I found this: encyclopedia dot thefreedictionary dot com slash Ergi (why can't I just put links in here?!), and the conversation between Thor and Tony happened ...

* * *

**Chapter XV–United In Diversity?**

_We don't see things as they are, we see things as we are.  
~Anais Nin_

Morning took Mick away.

Contrary to her belief, Rebecca had fallen asleep again, only to awaken some time later snuggled tightly against Mick. Which might have justified the weird look he'd given her before he left, and one or two extra question if she was all right, because snuggling was definitely on their we-don't-do-that list. It was either sex or friends, and sometimes sleeping through the rest of the night together. Nothing else.

Maybe she was not all right. But she miraculously felt better than she had since last week; a good night's sleep could work wonders. No dreaming was nice for a change.

It was still early when she walked outside, six at most, which left the streets almost empty (for New York's standard) for a change. She wrapped the scarf tighter around her neck, quickened her pace, and then sighed happily when she reached her favourite café three blocks away. She ordered a vanilla latte and sat down at a table in a corner. The barista, Lillian—she knew them all by names by now, three years of going to the same place on a daily basis did that to a person—brought her drink instead of just calling her. There was nothing else to do, what with only two costumers; the café had just opened, and it was Sunday, for god's sake, sane people were still in beds. If that branded Rebecca insane—ah, hell, it wouldn't be the only thing.

She sipped her drink, mostly succeeding in keeping her head empty for now. Bangs fell over her left eye as she bowed her head to inspect her nails. A new layer of polish was definitely in order. Maybe not as blue, but then again the colour did go with her hair, and it had stood out so nicely against Loki's hair, and—

Oh, no. Wrong way.

So, nail polish. Something beige, perhaps. French manicure even, but she had nobody to help her with it now …

The idea came so suddenly, she actually twitched. For a moment, her fingers were grabbing through thin air before she remembered what to do and pulled a notepad and a pen out of her bag. Another heartbeat, and she started scribbling lest her thoughts eluded her.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

"Sir, director Fury is coming up."

"I'm working, Jarvis, thank you very much. Block him out."

"My protocol's been overridden, sir."

"What?" Tony finally looked away from Mark VI. "Only Coulson was supposed to be allowed that!"

"He is waiting for you in the lounge room, sir."

"All right, all right. Jeeesh, can't a person have some peace?"

He grudgingly got up and started making his way out through the mess littered all around the workshop. Not only had Jarvis found no trace of Loki yet, Fury was here to throw tantrums, now.

Tony knew he should have brought a new supply of spirits down here.

SHIELD's director was not the only one waiting for him. Bruce stood at a side, looking reserved as ever, wearing one of those tasteless shirts _again_. Ugh. There was work to be done.

"What's up?" Tony wiped his hands in his pants. "Nothing much, here. See, no Loki."

"Stark."

God, was that man ever not scowling?

"I know, I know, I'm working on it. Or, Jarvis is. Free time rocks."

"Good. I have a job for you."

"What part of "free time" don't you—"

"We need you to take a look at Loki's sceptre."

"Loki's … sceptre?" Tony's eyes lit up. Now, that was something. He'd wanted to put that thing apart since the moment he'd first laid his eyes on it. Shooting shiny blasts of light would come in handy, not to even mention how much he wanted to uncover the secret behind the mind control mojo. It had always been like this, really: things he didn't understand had to be taken apart, and studied, and put back together, possibly with as many improvements as there were windows in Stark tower.

"Yes, Stark." Fury sighed. One would think he had to explain things to a five year old. Well. Five and a half, perhaps. "SHIELD can't find anything. Since you have so much free time …"

Tony shrugged. "I suppose I could do it. Bruce?"

The latter looked up a bit abruptly, then gave a short nod.

"Great." Tony clasped his hands together in a mockery of a clap. "We've got a new toy. Don't worry, Man of Anger, we are searching for Loki."

Fury's scowl only deepened at that. Seriously, something was wrong with his mimic. "He's playing a different game this time. No sudden moves, no Stuttgart shows. We have nothing. Does Thor know what he might be up to?"

Tony shook his head. "But we'll find him. Come on, he's only one out of seven billiards of people around here, how hard can it be?"

"You keep joking, Stark. I'll laugh when we've found him. The sceptre is on its way here." The director turned to leave, but Tony called after him.

"How did you get past Jarvis? Wasn't that Coulson's secret?"

"Secrets can be shared, Stark."

He walked out after that, leaving both scientists in the silent room. Tony plopped down onto the couch.

"Secrets can be shared, Stark," he said in the best mockery of Fury's voice he could manage. That guy was plain irritating with all his control. And Tony had thought Coulson dislikeable, pff. He'd grown to like him, though, what with the man's immense dedication and his silent bad-assary. If there was something he really resented Loki, it was Coulson's death.

"You're sore," commented Bruce. Tony looked at him.

"Well, of course I'm sore. Coulson is dead. When I finally started to like him, he died. And then, people wonder why I don't let them get close to me!" He slammed a fist against the couch, hissing at the pain the impact caused. "Fucking couch."

"Language."

"Bruce, just don't."

The doctor sighed. He moved closer, caution never completely leaving his steps, and slowly sat down beside Tony. He didn't say anything. Tony wished he would; silent treatment stressed the

unnecessariness of his outburst even stronger. His shoulders sagged.

"Sorry … I know we're all stressed out. Sometimes, I forget I'm not the only one the world is obviously trying to defeat."

"And yet we keep saving it."

"True. I guess I'm not the only crazy person, either." He started massaging the aching part of his hand. "I keep thinking … I know Loki's still out there, and who knows what he'll do, but at least he doesn't have his army anymore. What if somebody else came? Somebody who wanted Earth and meant it?"

"Meant it?"

"Yeah. Went on us all serous. Come on, Loki was totally playing with us. I'm pretty sure he let himself be captured just so he could provoke us. Maybe he meant it, maybe we would have died, but there's this unpleasant voice telling me we would all be dead if he'd been serious."

"I can't really tell." Bruce shifted uncomfortably. "The other guy did most of the job, I wasn't there so much."

"Right. It seems to me he's a bit like a cat, playing with its pray. He was bantering with me when he could have just slit my throat. Well, he did throw me out of the window, later, I suppose that counts as an attempt of murder. But it still seemed like everything was a bit of a game. Either that, or … Yeah, I don't know. Perhaps he's crazy."

"Don't say that."

Oh god, Thor had managed to sneak up on them. Thor, with the steps of a rhino. That was it, Tony needed his hearing checked.

"Sorry, Dorothy. But I don't know why someone would play with the planet he wants conquered."

"It's what Loki does." Thor sighed. "He's always been one for mischief. But when he strikes, he is deadly."

"Yeah, eighty people in—"

"That's nothing, friend Stark!"

Tony blinked. "Huh?"

Thor sighed and ran a hand through his already messy hair. He seemed uneasy.

"I've been thinking a lot," he said thoughtfully. "I hoped I could talk to you about Loki."

"Well, great timing, we're right on it."

"Not … like that." He cast a quick glance at Bruce. Tony understood. He wasn't sure he wanted to spend the next hour listening to Thor's sadness-heavy reminiscing, but there was that little matter of wanna-be friendship and standing together, so he gave a short nod.

"Okay. Sure. Let's go … outside, okay? Okay. Come, big guy. See'ya later, Bruce." He waved at Thor to follow him, speaking the moment they crossed the threshold. "So, what's up?"

Thor gripped the fence. "Understand, this is not easy for me … Like I said, I've been thinking. I've never understood Loki, but I'm trying to, now, to figure out why he did what he did, and what he actually wants …"

"And I come in where?"

"You are a lot like my brother."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Tony held his palms protectively in front of his chest. "Let's skip the part where I hear something wrong and do this again. So I come in because …?"

Thor gave him a somewhat confused look. "You are a lot like my brother," he said again, and Tony dragged a palm over his own face.

"Great. And why is that, again?"

"Well ... You are both smart, you have a strong disregard for rules, you both became something else than what society expected you to be …"

"About that, I'll have to disagree on the last one. Maybe people didn't expect me to become Iron Man, but then they kind of expect me to do the unexpected, so …"

"As Man of Iron you are an honourable warrior, it is not that I was referring to. But you are also a seidrmadr, are you not?"

"I'm a what?"

"You practice magic."

"Um, nope. No magic."

What the hell was this about? And why did it not sound like particularly good news?

"What you call science would be considered a form of magic."

"U-huh. I still disagree, but whatever. Even if working with science would make me a seiden—"

"Seidrmadr."

"—I don't see how that's connected. Because being a smart ass and inventing shit is exactly what's been expected of me."

"How could that be?"

"My father owned the company, so of course I would take over. What's so strange about it?"

"Your father was a seidrmadr, too?"

"I guess? Look, either I'm missing something here or you are, and why does the sei-whatever word sound like it tasted of partly raw broccoli every time you say it?"

"I don't understand. You are wealthy and respected by everybody, even when Seidr is meant for women."

Tony watched Thor's bewildered frown for a second before he burst out laughing. Thor's growing befuddlement only made him crack with laughter some more. He was so not respected by everybody, and the thought of science being for women only was absurd. There were much more men in the business anyway, how had Thor not noticed with Bruce, and Selving, and Tony around?

"What amuses you so, Stark?"

Tony forced himself to calm down, although seeing Thor's expression almost made him chortle again. "I am totally not respected by everybody. And why the hell would science be for women?"

Thor raised his eyebrows. "So … it isn't?"

"Hell no! It used to be a man-thing only, but lately there are more and more women in it too, so it's not really stigmatized anymore. Not the case in Asgard, I suppose?"

The god shook his head. "Real warriors have no need to rely on dishonourable ways. Magic is for women, since they cannot defend themselves without it."

"Oookay …" Tony said slowly, glancing up at Thor. He hated having to look up so often. "So, Loki?"

"I thought you would be able to tell me why he decided to take the path he'd chosen instead of fighting like a warrior. He might not be the best with arms, but he could be good, he could achieve respect and greatness. Instead, he …" Thor shook his head. "It doesn't matter now, since you're not in the same situation."

"Right. Say, Pikachu, do you have any idea what Loki might be up to now?"

Tony gazed across the city. Ruins caught his view immediately. It wasn't as bad as it could be, but casualties were an unavoidable fact.

"Ney. But from what I know about him, he'll form a plan before he acts. Loki was always the one to think first. At least, I think so, I don't even know him anymore. Mayhap I never did. "

"And then what?"

"If only I knew."

Was it just him or did Thor suddenly look a lot older? Tony placed a hand on his biceps in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

"What about how long it will take?"

"No." Thor's sigh contained all the sadness of the world. "I only want my brother back. The real Loki. The way he used to be."

He gave Tony one more sorrowful look, then left with heavy steps. The billionaire leaned onto the fence with both forearms.

That, that was a paradox. How could you want back somebody you might never have known?

"Jarvis," he said a bit abruptly. "Be a dear and do a little research on the whole magic-is-for-women thing."

"Of course, sir. Anything else?"

"No."

Tony sighed. He had a feeling he'd just been handed a puzzle-piece that he had no idea know what to do with. But holding something was always better than holding nothing (except in rare cases when that something was on fire—then, it was better to let go and scream for Jarvis to put the damn fire out), even if it made him uneasy.

All knowledge came with a price.

And he knew when he put all the pieces together, he would be able to answer at least one of the question that troubled Thor's mind.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

_You feeling better?_

Rebecca glared at the screen. She did not need that.

_Y r u asking?_

She really didn't feel like typing either.

_Just wanted to make sure._

'_m fine. Give it a rest._

_Are you sure?_

She frowned. That was like a lot of concern, coming from a man. Yeah, yeah, friends and such, but he was a guy still, and she …

She didn't reply for a long time.

Mick texted again in a couple of minutes. Then again after that, his text coloured with a slightly more worried tone.

_Forget it,_ she finally typed.

_Did I do something wrong?_

No. No, he didn't. But she knew things were changing, and they shouldn't be, she needed them the way they'd been before, or else this would all be just another thing to fall apart.

_We're not getting attached._

She turned her phone off and left it on the pillow.

A shower was in order.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for the attention you've given this story so far ^^


	16. Chapter 16: Hide And Seek And Die

A/N: Sorry. Life keeps demanding my attention.

Part I: This Will Destroy You—The Mighty Rio Grande

Part III: Two Cellos—The Resistance

* * *

**Chapter XVI–Hide And Seek And Die**

_The violin is trembling like a grieving heart,_

_A tender heart, that hates non-feeling, vast and black!_

_The sad and lovely sky spreads like altar-cloth;_

_The sun is drowning in its dark, congealing blood._

_~Baudelaire: The Harmony of the Evening_

Everything looked so much more normal with streets thronged with people. It was an iridescent mixture; businessmen hurrying across downtown, tourists with cameras, every possible skin colour, though some were rarer than the others, and enough different styles to fill a fashion week. It lacked perhaps one or two cosplays here and there, and maybe some dogs. But okay, dogs could be found elsewhere.

Rebecca nibbled at her muffin (not blueberry, good old chocolate), twirling a pen between her fingers as she held it over her notepad. Black lines stared back at her.

_You went looking,_

_Caught in mist,_

_With the smell of dew on your mind,_

_And you didn't even_

_Know why._

She sighed. This was so typical: lines popped out of nowhere, she wrote them down, and then there was nothing for a while, before the mood of the former words thoroughly sunk in and inspiration hit anew.

Right now was the period in between.

Her gaze landed on the newspaper sprawled in front of her. Maybe she could ask Thor about Odin, though it wasn't likely he'd answer.

She needed to buy milk, maybe cocoa powder.

_You watched_

No.

She crossed the last bit.

_You walked by_

_With night in your chest._

Mick had only written that they were friends, the confusion obvious even in a text message. Ashley had called to announce her brother's wife was pregnant. Rebecca had sent her to hell. Out loud.

Ashley had laughed.

Rebecca'd hung up.

_You walked before they could pull you back._

She heard the door open. When she was about to lift her eyes, out of pure curiosity, they landed on the newspaper again. New York Times. Sometimes, it was useful to have connections.

And then, she heard Thor's loud voice. Her train of thoughts, or better, her already scattered thoughts, were interrupted, gaze pulled up. The Thundered was standing in front of the counter, Jane seemed to be informing him about pastries, Pepper was helping her, and Stark was standing a step away, looking bored as hell. The chances of his being present willingly were slim. It seemed newspapers were right about one thing: one did not win arguments against Pepper Potts.

Rebecca shifted in her chair, torn between alerting them to her presence and pretending she didn't exist, when Stark noticed her and a grin split his face.

"Blue Jay!"

So much for deciding.

Stark slipped into the chair opposite to her. "How are you doing?"

She shrugged. "Coping. Aren't we all?"

"True." He turned to the rest of his little group. "Hey guys, I've got us places to sit!"

Rebecca stared at him for a second.

"Any news of Loki?" she asked quietly.

"Not yet. But Bruce and I think we've found the algorithm. It'll probably take a while to scan the Earth, though."

"I can imagine." She took another bite of her muffin. Pepper sat down next to Stark. Jane was still struggling to explain why Thor should not order everything he saw.

"So, that's your famous paper?" Stark poked the New York Times.

"If you say so."

"Today's? May I?" Pepper asked and took the paper when Rebecca hummed in affirmation. She didn't mind people looking.

A young barista brought coffee for Stark. Rebecca wondered for a moment if he'd have the gall to flirt with her, then decided against it; he even wrapped his arm around Pepper's shoulders. Who would have thought, people changed. If Tony Stark could, everybody could do it.

Even Thor was beginning to get his I'm-on-a-human-realm act together. Well, almost. He still ordered more than Rebecca could eat in a whole day. If Jane thought it strange, she didn't show it. Actually, she looked very happy. Probably due to Thor.

"Hey, god," Rebecca addressed him. "May I ask a question? You like golden things in heaven?"

"Heaven?"

"Asgard."

"I … It seems we do. Is there a reason for your asking?"

"Nope."

_Golden chair. Throne. _

Hell.

She couldn't get it out of her head. But it was a piece of truth among lies, lies, and even more lies, it seemed a little more worthy of clinging to.

Thor flashed her a bright smile. "You are a strange human."

She shrugged. "We're all strange. With a very high concentration at this table."

Pepper lifted her eyes from the newspaper. "You sound too much like Tony."

"And that's bad because?" asked the billionaire in question.

"One you is enough."

"'m not Stark." She took one last bite of the muffin and licked her fingers clean, turning towards Jane. "You like NY so far?"

"What little I've seen. Pepper here was kind enough to promise me a tour. Perhaps you would like to join as well?"

What the hell? She was not a tour-guide. She did not hang out with gods' girlfriends.

"Sure."

One did not say no to the said girlfriends.

"How do you feel about seeing the inside of a cinema?"

Jane smiled at that, and suddenly Rebecca wasn't against the idea so much. Going out helped, meeting people was good, the whole matter was distractive; anything so that the invisible weight pressing on her lungs would lift and she could breathe easily again.

At that point, Stark opened his mouth. Saying he didn't close it for a while would be an understatement. Not that Rebecca cared too much; the conversation gained an easy lilt, with occasional laughter increasing the harmony. Half an hour later, going out with Jane and Pepper became something to look forward to.

"Rebecca?"

"Hm?"

How Pepper managed to read the newspaper and interact with everybody simultaneously was still a bit of a mystery to her, even when she was herself a woman with multitasking abilities.

"Are you feeling better about the ... accident?"

The journalist narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

"There's a nice article in here. I thought it might help. Maybe."

Stark leaned over Pepper's shoulder. "_You don't need to know; I will still hold your hand_," he read. "_We have all heard about the alien invasion …_"

"Skip that," said Pepper. "It's just a short summary. Nothing but general facts. There are things later … _events that divide us until each person is a small island for himself. Truth might be an elusive concept, yet it is never completely out of reach. We are not separated—that is the truth. None of us know what happened. We fear the unknown. We recoil from 'ifs,' and 'buts,' and possibilities that scare us, thinking knowledge is all we need to be strong, convinced we will face another day without fears if we only held the truth in our hands. _

"_But maybe, we don't need to know. Maybe, there are as many truths as there are individuals, and we can't possibly find all the answers in them, because what differs automatically divides us and therefore cannot make us strong. Instead, we should look for connections. Not knowing unites. We should step together; a little faith can go a long way. Sometimes, we simply have to trust we'll be protected and that all will be well come next morning. We have to believe in what we know, not fear the unfamiliar, yet the unfamiliarity should not repel us, either; we need each other to chase our nightmares away. We have the power. Because, sometimes, the only thing we need is as simple as somebody holding our hand."_

"Readers' letters." Stark's eyebrows rose. "Signed R. R. R. Who the hell has a name like that?"

"Tony, this is beside the point."

"You're right. The point is that somebody finally supports the Avengers. There are still nice people somewhere out there."

"Why thank you," said Rebecca, forcing a smirk away.

"You're welcome. Wait, for what?"

"You've just said I was nice. One doesn't get a compliment from Tony Stark every day."

"You wrote this?" Pepper put the paper down.

"And your middle name starts on r? Poor girl."

"I find it interesting," offered Jane.

"_Thank you. _Yes, my middle name stars on r. A problem?" Rebecca crossed her arms defensively. She liked her name, and being Tony Stark did not give one the right to comment. He wasn't even original.

"No problem," replied Pepper for him. "It's an interesting take on the events."

"What _is_ your middle name?"

Stark's comment was purposefully ignored.

"'s just something I came up with."

Not really. More like something people like her needed to hear unless the situation drove them crazy.

"Why the readers' letters?" Stark tried again. This time, Rebecca chose to have mercy on him.

"An article like this hardly belongs in my area of work," she replied drily.

"What do you write about?" asked Jane.

"Culture."

"Culture? And you've done an interview with me? How is that even possible?"

"You financed an art exhibition."

"Oh. Well, it was probably Pepper's work. I don't think my answers were very useful."

"Rest assured, they weren't." There was a smirk in her voice.

"Stop that, Miss Foster will get a completely wrong impression of me."

All three women rolled their eyes. Jane placed her palm on Thor's and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with the other hand.

"Pardon my asking. You keep playing with your pendant."

"It's a habit," retorted Rebecca before the other could finish.

"Oh. I was wondering why you're wearing it. Since it's …"

"Broken. I—"

Something clicked into place.

She'd thought the pendant was the key.

It wasn't.

It was the trigger.

Loki was the key.

She was on her feet before she knew it, stuffing things into her bag.

"'scuse me," she threw in. "I've just remembered something. Gotta go. See ya."

She only just heard a phone ring as she pushed the door opened.

"Guys." Tony lifted his gaze from his phone to look at everyone at the table. "We've got work to do?"

"What is it?" Jane, surprisingly.

"Jarvis found Loki."

That was all it took to make Thor jump onto his feet, yet his face was full of everything but enthusiasm. He paled a little, anxiety and firmness settling in his eyes, which resembled a storm. As if on cue, thunder shook the air above New York.

"Hold your horses, Zeus. Your hammer is in my house, and despite what it might look like, I don't like having it repaired every week, so slow down, okay?" Tony pinned him with a look. "We'll all go to Stark tower, suit up, and _then_ go after Loki. He doesn't seem to be moving anyway."

"I dislike your conditions, Man of Iron," Thor said grimly. "I know not what Loki is doing, but also not how he is doing."

Jane placed a hand on his biceps. "We'll find him."

"Listen to Astro, big boy. Pep, you mind calling Happy? I gotta talk to Bruce. And Thor, try to—"

Thunder cut the skies.

"—ah, forget it."

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Her lungs burned. There was only so far she could go with the subway before she was forced to resort to running.

People shrank to blurred images at the edges of her vision, unimportant. If one or two shouted something after her for bumping into them, it didn't register.

Her legs burned, too, a little. Still not enough jogging. Well, hell. She'd do better next month.

Three more blocks and she was forced to stop, struggling for breath. Almost there.

She needed answers; if Loki was the answer, then she needed him. She still wasn't sure, but her pendant and Loki were somehow connected with that sense of _missing_, and Loki would know about it, he had to, for if he didn't, there was no one she could ask.

The fact spurred her. She moved.

She still didn't count the floors, but this time there was no need to. The door was closed like she'd left it, the doorknob still speckled; it could have been rust by the looks of it if she didn't know better.

Rebecca raised her hand to knock, then stopped mid-motion. Swallowed. Bit down on her lip.

Should she knock?

She supposed not; Loki would probably just ignore her. But there was that nagging feeling of barging in on someone's privacy, intimacy even …

Which totally did not lead to the right train of thought.

What the hell; it wasn't like he was going to be happy to see her. Because he wasn't. He'd probably kill her with a single glare. Maybe threaten. And from where had she had the idea coming here was safe? The guy, god, whatever, had led an invasion on Earth, killed and hurt, and left fear and nightmares in his wake. Yet …

_Yet._

She had no sense of self-preservation. Zero. None. But the door was open now, and if he was awake, he'd heard her already. Her heartbeat escalated, nervousness twisting her gut. Two more steps, one …

She held her breath, reached out to open the other door …

And found the room empty. The chair she'd left next to the couch was there no longer, and the only indication the place had been occupied was a pool of blood on the faded fabric and footprints in the thin layer of dust that looked less like footprints and more like someone had been dragging his feet around. Rebecca followed them into the kitchen, still hesitant, but found it empty as well.

She took a deep breath. Two more doors led out of the hall. She chose one at random and—afterthoughts be damned—swung it open only to be met with a small bathroom full of shadows and a pair of unearthly green eyes that practically glowed in the darkness. If the way they narrowed was anything to go by, Loki was not pleased to see her.

The lack of light made his features even sharper, his eyes seemed sunken in, and sweat glistered on his brow. Nonetheless, he looked better than two days ago. His skin was clean, hair falling down much softer, the scab had disappeared from his cheek. But he was also angrier. Rebecca was pretty sure she'd walked in on him doing _something, _although she had no idea what.

He was sitting, back against the tub, his sleeveless coat a heap of fabric beside him, with one leg bent so that his knee was resting on the tiles. His other leg was stretched out, right palm resting above his knee.

It seemed like a wonderful time to remember she didn't have a plan, or anything that even vaguely resembled one. Excellent work—she'd just willingly crossed paths with a wanted criminal from outer space completely clueless.

_This would make a hell of a story_, a part of her mind supplied. The other part, though … was preparing to freak out.

Loki's posture relaxed just the slightest, but he was still too much like a wildcat, waiting to strike the moment he deemed it necessary. Rebecca found herself waiting for him to bare his teeth. He would, too. She had seconds, maybe not even that, to make the first move lest she ended up being held by the throat.

"You have answers," she blurted.

Loki snarled. "What makes you think I'm willing to share them?"

"Nothing. Nothing. I just … Maybe it's crazy, but I'm sure you have something to do with my pendant, and both with … Whatever I don't know."

Loki apprehended her in silence, his jaw set. Slowly, he rose to his feet, coming to tower over her. Rebecca's eyes slipped up to his face, or rather, a carefully weaved mask of intimidation and peril. Damn, was he tall. She parted her lips to speak, but thunder shook the building, drowning out her inhale.

Loki tensed.

"How _did_ you find me?"

"By accident." More likely miracle, because really, how high were the odds of such a thing happening? "I miscounted the floors."

One of his eyebrows arched. "On your own."

"Yeah." She frowned. "Of course. Why … Oh. No, really, I was alone, I'm not lying."

He flashed her a humourless grin. "Oh, I know. That is my domain." He made a step forwards, and she mirrored his motion, only hers was a step back.

"Look." Her throat kept closing up. "I know it sounds weird, but there's something I'm missing that was there before, and I'm pretty sure you—"

She shrieked when parts of walls exploded. Loki darted past her as she took in the hole in it, flashes of light that could only be lighting brightening the world outside, and the heavy downpour the wind carried in. She turned, searching for Loki. He stood by the front door, with eyes just a little too wide and wild.

The crack of thunder deafened her for a moment. Another lighting hit nearby, another thunder shook the sky. Rebecca felt fear intensify. She moved towards the door in an attempt to get away from whatever was happening. She'd have to get past Loki, but he didn't look like he'd try to stop her. His attention was reserved for the storm only; Rebecca was less than four feet away, and he didn't spare her a single glance.

She followed his gaze with her eyes. Just in time, perhaps. Maybe not.

Later, she would swear she saw lighting coming towards them. It was hard to be sure, though. Everything happened so fast. One moment, she was turning her head, the next, she felt her body move, just a little, just those three feet, just enough to enter the darkest inferno of pain she'd ever experienced.

Everything was black, and red, and black again. The world wasn't on fire, it _was_ fire, pain, and screams, the world was ending, it had to be, why else would somebody torture every single one of her nerves, and the air wouldn't smell of blood, she'd be able to die, she wanted, she wanted, she wanted …

Darkness.


	17. Chapter 17: The Unreal in Reality

_Part III and onwards: Corrine May—Scars_

* * *

**Chapter XVII—The Unreal in Reality**

_Only dreams closing the day  
And with the day's close going back  
To the gray things, the dark things,  
The far, deep things of dreamland._

_Dreams, only dreams in the dusk,  
Only the old remembered pictures  
Of lost days when the day's loss  
Wrote in tears the heart's loss._

_~Carl Sandburg: Dreams is the Dusk_

Shit.

Tony directed his repulsors downwards to soften his landing, metal feet crushing debris. He had to fight to keep his breathing steady. A heavy thud nearby told him Thor had landed, too, and he glared at him through his mask.

"Can't you at least stop the stupid rain?!"

No, looking like a kicked puppy was _not_ going to work this time. Loki had disappeared directly from under their noses. If Thor had managed to hold his lightings back for another four second, they could have got him.

"What part of the concept of subtlety don't you understand?" Tony snapped, although some part of him was distantly aware it wasn't a fair thing to do. "This is not some Asgardian face to face battle where sneaking up behind somebody's back is the worst thing you can imagine, this is Earth, and Loki, and we need to find him before he blasts half the world away! Throwing lighting around is not going to intimidate him, or impress him, or anything, it's simply going to warn him and give him time to run, which is exactly what he did!"

Fine, maybe looking like a puppy that had been run over by a truck and then forced through a dozen press conferences might be working a little.

Tony sighed. He would have run a hand through his hair if not for the suit.

"Look, Hercules, I know you only meant good. But you have to hold back. Your way of approach just makes Loki disappear." He wasn't completely sure if he was still talking about fighting only. "You two are not the same, hell, you're probably the most different brothers I've even come across …"

"He's adopted."

"Right, I knew that. I guess what I'm saying is that what you think is best for Loki might not be what he thinks and … Uh, no, we're not having psychology discussions about aliens. Just … Just don't destroy half a building next time. People might get hurt. And I have to deal with Captain Hook afterwards. Which, not cool. I'm blaming the casualties on you, just to be clear."

"I am sorry, Man of Iron. Sometimes the storm comes with my mood, and—"

Tony slapped him on the shoulder. "Just ... call me Tony," he said tiredly, kicking the remains of a wall. "I think our SHIELD friends are here. That ought to be fun."

~*oO*o*Oo*~

She awoke with a start, gasping for air as though it was limited and she'd run out if she didn't get it now. Her mind was still somewhere dark, still squirming with pain that was tearing her back apart …

She blinked. There was nothing dark about this place. Instead, it was all bright; creamy walls, white ceiling, white sheets on beds … A hospital. Her back didn't feel like it was on fire, anymore. There was only stiffness in her muscles, and a slight ache here and there.

In a blink of an eye, she was sitting, pushing the hospital gown away, and running her fingers along her spine. The skin there was smooth, in a way, too smooth, yet jagged and knotted, and she could barely feel her touch.

Keeping her breathing steady suddenly became hard. There was a giant scar on her back, stretching all the way from between her shoulder blades to her tailbone. Oh God. Oh God. It was all she could do to keep from screaming as images flooded her mind, memories of walls collapsing, of lightning, of pain so strong she thought her whole body was on fire, and then it was all a dark, dark blur with spackles of blood …

Somebody spoke right next to her, and she jerked away. A nurse was standing beside her bed, and judging by her expression, she'd just asked a question.

"Hm?"

The nurse, brown-haired and blue-eyed, raised her eyebrows but spoke again.

And it wasn't in English.

It wasn't. In English.

"Excuse me," muttered Rebecca, fighting to stay calm. "I don't understand."

"Oh," said the woman. "How are you feeling?"

She had an accent so strong it was hard to understand a word of what she was saying, but Rebecca got it somehow.

"I … fine. How long have I been here?"

"A couple hours. You were brought here in the middle of the night."

A couple hours …

Rebecca felt like the whole universe was suddenly hanging upside down in front of her eyes. _Couple hours_. And all that was left was a scar?

"Why are you speaking so strange?"

"Strange?" The woman smiled incredulously. "Darling, you're in Paris, don't you remember?"

_Paris?!_

_Okay_, thought Rebecca. _You may panic now._

Her heartbeat escalated, breathing coming faster, and she reached for her pendant for comfort.

It wasn't there; her fingertips hit the skin of her collarbones.

And then she _remembered_, finally grasped the missing piece, and she thought she was going to retch.

Perhaps, it would have been better to let the past lie forgotten.

She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Guilt settled in her gut and made her heart heavy.

She wanted to scream until there was not an ounce of strength left in her.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

She said she was okay. Said she didn't remember. Scans showed her brain was working just fine.

She lied about her reasons for being on this side of the Atlantic. The doctors called her boss.

They let her out of the hospital.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Her phone was on, but she ignored every single person who tried to contact her. And they tried, from Ashley to Mick to Pepper and Jane. She let it go to voicemail. She never listened.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

In five days, she was on the plane. The magazines offered were crap; she didn't know French. She wished she'd got a window seat, at least. She didn't close her eyes. Not even for a moment.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Nobody greeted her at the airport, but that was okay. She was in her own, personal little bubble. People around her were different. And she found herself realising how much easier all of this was without luggage.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Her flat was still too big and too empty, but for once she didn't notice. She all but stumbled into her bed. Sleep didn't come easy.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Rebecca sighed. Sleeping had helped after all, followed by two cups of coffee, and a long, long bath. Living felt easier afterwards. She'd called her boss, telling she'd be back to work on Monday, with a fresh article on top of it, and apologised half a dozen times. Yes, her life'd been turned upside down, but she couldn't afford to lose the thread of normality. She needed a job, and she'd better not do anything stupid. Besides, writing was easy when there was nothing personal about the topics.

Her phone kept buzzing, annoying her to the point when she'd texted every damn person who'd been bugging her that, yes, she was still alive. She agreed to meet Ashley in the evening. She apologized to Mick.

Life went on.

She started cleaning her apartment, sweeping, washing the bathroom. Leah's room remained untouched, but she could deal with it later. A memorial service would be held for her sister tomorrow; cleaning came _after_.

One way or another, she found herself thinking about her parents, and Tiger, and then Leah, remembering everything they'd gone through together, trying to only keep good stuff in her memory. It hurt. Even the thought of her parents still left a soft, dull pang of pain in her chest. Leah's death was fresh.

But so what if she ended up crying? Nobody was there to point at her tears.

There were only two things she refused to do. She couldn't let questions occupy her mind; too many of them had the same answer.

And she couldn't find the courage to actually look at her back in a mirror.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

In the end, she didn't go out. She'd found her pendant missing, Loki wouldn't answer her questions even if she somehow got a hold of him, and she didn't feel like explaining anything to anyone. People would see her tomorrow anyway.

Leah's room became a sanctuary once again. Rebecca started emptying the wardrobes. She would finally get to wear her sister's clothes without her complaining; a sad smile crossed her lips.

There were tears involved, and she grabbed a journal on an impulse to write down all the memories that kept arising as she went through Leah's stuff. She didn't start sobbing out of blue.

That was progress.

She even got to sleep through the night.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Leaves of grass were swaying in the breeze. Clouds kept forming ever-changing patterns on the dark canvass lit only by the full moon, or maybe that single light was the real painter. It appeared lonely, forever alone in its orbit. The sky was empty here, devoid of colourful nebulas and twinkling stars that formed the beautiful background of the Ream Eternal.

Loki liked it with all its vacant vastness. Not in the past, he wouldn't, but now it was better. Space seemed further away.

Languidly, his left arm rose upwards, a gesture a child might take for an attempt to reach for the moon and pluck it from the sky. His hand was already full, though, an apple enclosed in elegant, slender fingers, and he studied the dent his teeth had made some seconds ago. The fruit's flesh was tasteless in his mouth. Maybe, he'd be able to keep this down long enough to digest it; he hated being hungry, hated the memories it brought back, hated memories. Even they turned their back on him, offering only darkness while he longed and searched for light.

The palace gardens in Asgard had kept him company for countless hours, blossoms of globe amaranth bobbing in gentle breeze, or bushes of bittersweet nightshade or belladonna obscuring his view on the castle walls. Apple blossoms, velvety to the touch.

He missed that.

A sun that could keep him warm.

A frown twisted his brow as his hand began to shake, a slight trembling that escalated by the second until it hurt. Loki bolted uprights and casted the apple as far away as it would go with a growl. It bounced once before it disappeared amidst the grass.

Loki cradled his aching hand and let his eyes slide close.

* * *

A/N: I'd be really happy if you reviewed.

Oh, and you can look up th emeaning of the flowers Loki mentions if you want to. It's not important, but they _were_ chosen for a reason ...

Also if you're interested in reading about mythology!Loki, I would totally recommend Runemarks by Joanne Harris. It's an amazing book.


	18. Chapter 18: Not a Word, But You Shall

**Chapter XVIII—Not a Word, But You Shall Speak**

_And for  
wanting to know it,  
for_

assuming there is  
such a secret, yes,  
for that  
most of all.

_~Denise Levetrov: The Secret_

"So, this is it?" Stark frowned up at an apartment block, some twenty storeys high, and utterly unimpressive. His eyes shifted to the sky, grey, covered with heavy dark clouds. It was only a matter of minutes before rain started to pour.

"Yes." Pepper nodded beside him. Thor and Jane were right there, too, holding hands.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Tony, Rebecca should have gone to the movies with Jane and I, she wasn't answering her phone, and the only thing we got from her was 'Yes, I'm alive.' We've been over this."

"But why do I have to be here? What if our sensors pick up something again? I'm sure you'd do fine without—"

"We've been over this, too." She shot him that unique Pepper-look that always managed to make him feel like a child who'd broken something very expensive. Even for his standards.

"Come, Man of Iron, helping a woman is always the right thing to do," Thor said and sweet-temperedly slapped him on the shoulder. He'd been trying to cheer everybody up the past week, but it only worked so much. Tony wished he were back in his lab, enjoying intellectual conversation with Bruce, who actually seemed to speak freakin English, but even he knew he wasn't going to turn back now. Pepper would kill him. Or resort to silent treatment. Worse still, refuse to have sex …

And he actually liked the NY Girl. A journalist with a little sense of honour and compassion for the subjects of the stories was a rare thing to come across. Maybe being in his lab wouldn't be so much better.

"Right, right, comin' …" he muttered as he trailed inside behind Pepper.

Eight floor, first apartment on the right; JARVIS was a smart Al. The door was plain white with no name on it, and—

Left ajar.

And then Rebecca's voice,

"Ugh, _stupid_ smart clothes!"

Maybe he should allow Pepper to come to work in casual stuff then, if smart clothes could lead to such frustration. Before he was even halfway considering it, however, Thor suddenly pushed the door aside and strode inside without so much as a knock. Asgardian manners. But, sure enough, the rest followed, even if the two women exchanged unappreciative glances.

They found themselves in what seemed to be a hall that stretched out into a living room. Rebecca was walking up and down, and apparently having just thrown a black blazer onto the couch, was pulling off an elegant grey shirt. Her hair was pulled up in a way that somehow—miraculously—hid the blue streaks. There was a line where her skin was lighter running down her spine, but Tony only had about a quarter of a nanosecond to look at it before she turned around and pulled the shirt up to cover her torso. For a second, she looked positively livid, then her eyes softened. Somewhat. She looked tired and weary.

"Ever heard of knocking?"

Ah, there, the staring was familiar territory.

"I apologise," muttered Thor, and Rebecca waved her hand whatever.

"Sit down," she said. "I'll grab some clothes."

Tony nodded. He moved towards the closest couch but glanced up on an impulse. The woman turned fast, too fast, and all but disappeared out of the room, but at least now he knew he hadn't imagined the line on her back.

"Well done, Thor," said Pepper, sinking down next to Tony.

"He apologised."

"I meant no offense."

"I know." Jane sighed. She was sitting on Thor's lap on the smaller couch. Slowly, her eyes travelled around the room, and Tony's gaze followed, taking in a television, bookshelves, abstract paintings on the walls, laptop on what was probably the dining table, discarded high-heels and a purse that had probably ended on the table before the blazer found its way onto the sofa. All the furniture was made out of very dark wood. There were fresh flowers on the little club table. A stack of newspapers on the wardrobe closest to the door.

Tony pushed himself up. Was Rebecca reading her own articles? Or, was she one of those people who never looked at them? She had had Monday's paper …

It seemed neither theories was correct; the pile was made out of various newspapers and magazines, and on top of them was a folded piece of paper, and on top of that—

A little figure of a cat with missing hind legs and the tail, still partly silver but covered with some kind of dark-ish spots where the metal no longer shined. The pendant's string was gone.

Tony couldn't help but reach for it. Rebecca was wearing this thing all the time, and last time he'd seen it, there were no stains. Eyebrows arched, he reached for the paper, and when he unfolded it, it revealed a very short note written by hand.

_If you continue like this, you'll destroy it._

_PS.: You should have at least visited the Eifel tower._

He probably shouldn't have seen this. No, he surely shouldn't have seen this. Soft footsteps made him put the note back onto the pile, and he strolled on like he was only exploring a little.

Rebecca appeared in pale grey skinny jeans and a black tee, with her hair pulled up in a ponytail, barefoot.

"There should be something to drink, somewhere." She smiled. Politely and all, but it didn't reach her eyes. She scurried into the kitchen, only to emerge two minutes later with a plate of glasses and two bottles that looked like tequila and wine.

Outside, rain had began to beat the roofs, falling heavier by the second.

Half a minute later, she added water to it all, then finally slumped into an armchair, the last sitting option she had besides the chairs at the table.

"Hi guys," she said.

Tony had enough experiences of being messed up himself that he could easily tell something was amiss. She looked a little tired, if the half-circles under her eyes were anything to go by.

But Pepper was the first to worry.

"What happened to you?"

"Nothing. I'm fine. I just wasn't available. Look, I'm sorry 'bout the movie thing."

"We thoughts something happened to you."

"Well," Rebecca's smile was weak. "Stuff's always happening to people."

"Serious stuff," elaborated Jane.

"Nah. Look, I said I'm sorry. I needed some time. Besides, I wasn't home."

As soon as the words left her lips, she bit down on her lower one.

"You could have told us so. Picked up the phone, you know."

The sound of thunder, hushed, fought its way into the apartment. Rebecca flinched slightly.

"I was in France, okay?"

Uf, somebody felt defensive. But, on the contrary, Jane's and Peppers eyes lit up.

"Ah, Europe." Jane sighed. "I've been wanting to go there for years! How come you went?"

"I, um, it was the kind of situation when you just do what you—"

Another thunder interrupted her, and this time fear flitted through her eyes. Tony leaned forward a little.

"You okay?"

"Mm, yeah. Right, France. I kinda had no choice." She looked at the lights for a moment. They were on, eliminating the room with a warm kind of light.

"I've been to France before. On a business trip," Pepper chimed it. "Did you go to Paris? It's a beautiful city. Romantic." Pepper shot a suggestive look at Tony, who pretended not to have noticed. Yes, he would have to take Pep to Paris eventually, but he was a little busy right now, with Loki and the Avengers.

"Well, sorry to interrupt you romance talk, but I wanted to ask Blue Jay something. Was that a scar on your back?"

She visually tensed up until not a single muscle in her body remained relaxed. Her gaze was guarded.

"So what if it was?"

"Nothing." He threw his left leg over his right. "Thor, can you make the thunder stop? You're making Blue Jay nervous."

"It's not my doing. Why do you think every storm is my doing?"

"I don't know. Why do I?"

But Thor didn't answer and Rebecca gave him a strange look he couldn't decipher.

"Never mind, just go back to Paris."

Let the women handle the conversation. He settled for sipping his wine and watching the journalist being all tense and jumpy when another thunder rang out.

"Mhm, Paris. I want to go back someday. Last time included too many meetings and not enough Louvre and Versailles. "

Of course, leave it to Pepper.

"But, oh, did you see Paris at all? The Eifel tower?"

"Yeah … I saw …" Rebecca glanced to the window almost cautiously. "Paris. A little. I mean, I was in Paris. I went into the city a little … Very little."

"You didn't even go to the Eifel tower." It was out before he could think about it twice, and he made it sound too much like a statement, rather than a question.

"No. I didn't." Rebecca narrowed her eyes. "How did you know?"

Tony sighed. He could either say he guessed, or he could tell the truth. The latter sounded more appealing, somehow. And it wasn't like he'd found the note somewhere he shouldn't be looking; it was just lying there in plain sight.

"I saw the note."

"Note?" Curiosity. Disbelief. "What note?"

Tony's eyebrows went up. She didn't know?

"That note."

She was on her feet quickly, stalked over to grab the two things which already made her eyes widen just the slightest, but she walked back to "her" side of the room before she flipped the paper open.

"Ah, this note."

She maintained her façade well, even if she couldn't hide all of the surprise. But hey, she deserved muffins for trying. Or, she could make them herself; the last ones had been delicious.

"Don't get me wrong, Mr Stark, I like hanging out with all of you, but I would prefer if my personal stuff were to remain personal."

Ah. There it was again, the formality she resorted to when she felt attacked or antagonized.

"Of course." A corner of his mouth twitched up to form a smile. Almost at the same time Pepper asked,

"What is this all about?"

Rebecca shook her head. "Nothing important."

This was like saying Ten Rings had tried to prepare Tony for the fights like the one with Chitauri. By the way she clutched both the note and the pendant in her hand, Tony knew they must have struck a nerve somewhere and were, indeed, more important that she'd have them believe.

She sighed, which forced her to momentary stop abusing her lips. "I'm not quite myself, sorry. I've just returned from the service for Leah."

"Oh. We didn't—"

"No, 's fine. I, um, should thank you for coming to check on me. You needn't have."

"But Lady Rebecca," said Thor. "It is our duty to care for those we consider friends."

"Thanks." Her mouth twitched into something akin to a smile. Tony could see gears turning behind her eyes, which stayed on Thor for only a heartbeat. And indeed her smile faded, thoughtfulness taking over, as she continued to regard the god almost cautiously.

"So you would consider … A sense of duty is important in Asgard?"

Thor nodded.

"And other stuff like that? Promises, returning the debt …? Kinda like knights, hum?"

"Yes."

"Hm." She pulled her knees up to her chest. Tony would swear something was going on behind the scenes. Her brain was certainly being put to good use in the moment. Her eyes remained cast towards the note folded in her palm for a while longer. Then something shifted in her posture—a decision made, possibly?—and she turned to Pepper.

"We could watch a movie another time. Some day this week?"

"Of course. Tony will be a dear and let us use his home cinema, right?"

So like Pepper. She really was running his life.

"Is there something that cannot be found in Stark tower?"

The question came from his left where Jane was now enclosed in Thor's arms.

"It's actually at my mansion, not the tower," Tony said, partly just to prove her wrong. He liked doing that, showing people they erred about him. Everybody thought they knew him because he was a celebrity. He didn't care much. Only a little, sometimes, after he'd woken up from an occasional bad dream, and he feared he'd never be completely free of them and knew Ten Rings had carried out Obadiah's order to kill him; the person he'd been before Afghanistan had died in that desert.

"In New York?" Rebecca asked. Her chin was resting on her knees.

"Yes. Not so far away. Here, I'll give you the address." He pulled a pen out of his pocket (what, signing autographs demanded a pen), and held out his other hand as if expecting her to offer the note she was clutching. But she didn't, and that only proved his point. That little piece of paper was important to her, probably somewhat confusing, and so secretive it screamed for the mystery to be uncovered.

Nevertheless, Rebecca hoped off the seat, returning a couple of moments later with a journal.

"I take it that's an invitation to a movie night."

"If you wish."

She pulled the journal away after he'd finished, silently snapping it close, and turned towards the window to reach the table.

Lightning set the world of fire.

And Tony saw her whole body jerk and freeze before her chest expanded with deep, slow inhales. He couldn't help but feel a bit sympathetic. He'd never been afraid of lightning, but it must suck to be. Imagine hiding under the bed every time there was a storm. One had to have a high enough bed in the first place, and there was all the dust to take care of, vacuuming had to take so much time, poor people, would he earn money if he invented some install-in-a-bedroom lightning protection, better still, it should be fun to invent it after his suits were all shiny again …

"It's just lighting," Pepper said then.

Of course, she'd noticed; she had eyes everywhere, and she was so much better at offering comfort.

"I know."

"There are many who should fear lighting, Lady Rebecca, but you have no reason. It is not meant to harm you."

She turned around, gaze directed straight at the Thundered. A sort of grim determination resigned in her features and sadness in her eyes when she repeated,

"I know."

She did.

Why would believing that sadden her when it was supposed to reassure?

"You want to continue with Disney movies?" he found himself blurting.

"If you won't throw up this time."

"Depends. Are you going to bring muffins?"

"Aye," Thor spoke. "We never got to try them. Friend Stark had eaten them all."

"I suppose I could, then."

She didn't look at the demigod. She never truly did.

Curiosity was a hot flame.

"Hey Blue Jay?"

"Yeah?" She started cleaning her nail. One of her hands twitched like she wanted to lift it towards her hair, but she held it still.

"You asked about Loki last time."

"Yeah."

Tony was just about to conclude she was, for some reason, avoiding looking at anybody when she peeked at him from under slightly bent eyebrows. "Got any news?"

"We found him." The pause was deliberate. "Lost him, too."

"What happened?"

Tony shifted to find a more comfortable position. Pepper's arm wrapped around his shoulders. The look Thor was giving him begged not to tell the truth as it had when they were forced to face SHIELD. Tony did him the favour. What good would it do if they knew Thor got a bit overzealous and couldn't hold back?

A shrug. "He disappeared." Damn magic. Why hadn't Thor mentioned this particular ability before, like when SHIELD was convinced they had him in their claws on the helicarrier?

"So you … still don't know where he is? Or, what he's planning?"

The last bit was added after a fraction of a moment.

"Friend Stark will find him."

"It's Tony, Thor. T-O-N-Y."

"Friend Tony. His Voice will find him."

"Jarvis." Tony let out an exhausted sigh. Was Thor ever going to adapt to normal speaking? Surely not all the gods could be so thick-headed. But since there was only Loki to compare Thor to …

No matter. He still shared Pepper's smile.

* * *

A/N: Review? Come on, you know you want to ... (Please?)


	19. Chapter 19: You Wait from the Moment You

Part I: Thor—Laufey

Part II: Tor Jaran Apold—Norwegian Folk Song

Part III: Junjo Romantica—Kanashimi no Riyuu

* * *

**Chapter XIX–You Wait from the Moment You Are Born**

_Peace courts his Hand, but spreads her Charm in vain;_

"_Think Nothing gain'd," he cries, "till nought remain …"_

_~Samuel Johnson: The Vanity of Human Wishes: The Tenth Satire of Juvenal Imitated_

Peace was an abstract notion. Rebecca was sure she could prove it.

She'd had one whole day, one single day, of adequate normality with the common morning rituals, attending an opening of some art exhibition she would have to criticize, and a book to read until her eyelids had grown too heavy.

Tuesday had began equally satisfyingly, with the same kind of coffee, the same subway, some computer work, and she'd actually began to think maybe the world was really still the same and she could still somehow return to her life.

Well hell.

That was what she'd got for being optimistic. Although, sheer optimism could not in any way be the reason she was now standing between the doors of her apartment, dumbstruck, staring at Loki's lanky form leaning against the wall opposite to her. Because—_Loki!_

And he looked more than a little worse for wear. Dark circles under his eyes had become even more prominent and stood out against the paleness of his skin. His left arm was trembling. He wasn't just standing by the wall, he truly was leaning against it.

The first thing she managed to wonder about was if he'd been standing the whole time he'd been waiting, or had he got up just so she wouldn't see him sitting.

He looked grim.

"What the hell?" Rebecca breathed and almost stumbled over her own feet as she closed the door.

"I need a place to stay.

Straight to the point, then. She just didn't know him enough to gather much from that. Of course, there was always the assumption a Gods of Lies, scratch that, a lying Gods of Fire, would prefer beating around the bush.

"And you came here? What? How'd you even … Forget that, they'll find you, they can find you, and they'll come here, and don't you dare pull me into this whole mess,"—she was not in too deep already, she wouldn't accept that—"I don't wanna end up in prison, and why _me_?"

Loki grunted and pressed a hand against his forehead.

"Not if I don't use magic they can't."

"How do _you_ know that? And didn't you just appear in the middle of my fucking apartment, of course they'll find you!"

So, maybe, she was panicking a little. But what else should she do, what did one say to a _god_ who suddenly wanted to crash at your place? No school had prepared her for that. Serving time didn't appeal to her, either. Stark had been kind once, but twice?

"Your valet. Look, I just …" Loki blinked furiously, as if trying to clear his vision. He slowly peeled off the wall and moved to the couch with about the same speed. His posture was just sagged enough to let Rebecca guess he wasn't feeling well. The hand he used to support himself trembled.

"You … wanted some answer?"

Was he trying to bargain to be able to stay? A favour for a favour; an answer for a place?

Why?

He had saved her life.

But …

Her gaze met his eyes, green as ever, although very tired.

She had thrown herself into the lighting's way.

But.

It had began as a game of debts paid and debts owed, and she'd been the one to change the rules to injuring, allowed paths to lead to dark places and the game to disappear behind some seeking of revenge, and maybe now she had a chance to get it back to owing again.

"I always want answers," she said quietly. "There's no magic clinging to this place?"

Loki's eyes slid close at that. "None. I didn't teleport here." He griped the couch stronger. "Thank you."

Rebecca shook her head. "No, you … I'm sorry."

His eyebrows rose. Damn, the gesture was so perfect she'd have to spend hours in front of a mirror to manage a bad copy. Eyebrows were not exactly the most expressive part of her face.

She swallowed. "I got the answer."

"What answer?"

"_The_ answer. Why the pendant?"

He remained silent, eyes distant like his mind was suddenly far away. A droplet of sweat glistered on his forehead.

"Loki?"

His lips parted and moved silently, but if he'd intended to say something, she couldn't read it from the gesture alone. The trembling had spread to his other arm.

"Loki?"

He made a step back, but his legs didn't hold. A soft _thud_ told her his knees had met the floor before she'd reached him, still she crouched down in front of him. At least, life had returned to his eyes.

She didn't say anything, but Loki nodded to her unasked question. His hand closed around the edge of the couch as he struggled to rise to his feet. Rebecca grabbed his upper arm on an impulse; helping somebody up was what people did.

Her lips parted to say something which was another thing people did in situations like that, stopping at the last moment. The gesture would likely go unappreciated. She wordlessly steered Loki around the couch instead, a little surprised he allowed it, and he exhaled deeply when his body finally got to rest on the cushions.

"So?" Her hands came to rest of her hips. "What now?"

"Nothing." He let his head fall back. His Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed.

"Nothing. 'kay. What … What was that just now?"

Rebecca hoped he wouldn't repeat himself. There was nothing she could do to force answers out of him. She hardly dared to ask. Maybe it had something to do with the fact he didn't enquire after her motives either.

"Consequences."

"Of?"

"Coincidences and decisions. Fate, perhaps."

Her brow furrowed.

"You're injured."

"In a way."

Both fell silent. Rebecca watched his chest extend and constrict in the slow rhythm of his breaths, and then the slightly curled ends of his hair lying on his shoulders, and then his eyelids, with the memory of intense green in her mind. Fingers of his left hand twitched every now and then. She wondered if it was the nerves or some impulse fuelled by a memory of a gesture he'd been doing for so long he couldn't stop it.

When the weight of quiet started to press her shoulders downwards too strongly, she walked into the kitchen. It was weird, wearing shoes in her own place. She'd never liked it. Sometimes it had caused her and Leah to argue.

Rebecca sighed. Stupid memories. If she could only let go, forget, be free of the burden …

But she didn't want to. As much as they were a burden, memories were also a blessing, a precious thing nobody could steal, and a friend to keep her company and tease her until she cried or laughter bubbled on her lips.

Did other people see it the same way? Ashley, with her mind full of songs, Stark, with his captivity? Loki?

She filled a glass with water. Droplets splashed her sleeves, nothing bothersome, and she returned to him.

"Here."

Green peeked from under dark eyelashes. Tremors still reigned over his arm, causing the surface of water to waver more than it usually would when Rebecca passed the glass over to him. He drained it in three long gulps, rivulets of water drawing lines over his chin.

"You, um, want to change or something?"

His leather tunic had some cuts in it, not too long, yet still there. A little dirt as well. Rebecca had no way of knowing if there was blood on it, too, but at least she did not smell any.

"Not necessary."

"Okay …" She ran a hand through her hair. That could be her next article: how to prevent awkwardness from slipping in while dealing with a hurt homicidal god.

There were better times for sarcasm. That could become a potential article, too. Maybe, she should start writing columns instead of culture. Maybe, she really should.

"You … wanna rest?"

Loki gave a small nod. Every cell of his body seemed to scream _tired_.

"'kay … I'll get you a pillow. That's a sofa bed, so you can unfold it in the meantime."

She hurried into her room where she leaned on the door first, taking a few deep breaths. She should be feeling a lot more uncomfortable, not just slightly awkward. A part of her mind realised she'd never even really thought to say he couldn't stay, only implied it indirectly at best. Hell, that was outright asking to get into trouble.

But Loki had saved her life. And then again. And again. And he was unwell. She could still throw him out when started feeling better.

Satisfied with the reasoning, she dug up an extra pillow and a blanket from the bottom of a wardrobe, folded it underneath her arm, and returned to the living room, only to find Loki hadn't complied with her suggestion. He was lying on the sofa on his side, legs bent because the couch was too short to allow him any other position, eyes closed.

That had to be one hell of exhaustion.

She poked his shoulder with her free hand, which got him to squint at her. When she pushed the pillow at him, he raised his head just enough to create space for it. She couldn't find it in her to scold him for not taking his boots off; he looked about ready to pass out, and she placed the blanket over the back of the couch with a sigh. Ready to leave him to rest, she turned around, but a soft murmur stopped her.

"Raven?"

She froze.

"Yes?"

"Don't step on the glass."

The said-thing had been placed onto the floor right next to the sofa. Rebecca crouched down to pick it up, and remained in that position a while longer than necessary as her eyes settled on Loki's pale face.

"What the hell happened to you?" she whispered.

The only answer she got was deep, even breathing.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Loki was ill.

Rebecca couldn't doubt it when she decided to check on him and found his sleeping form trembling all over and thrashing around, his features twisted in a grimace of pain. Still, she placed a hand on his forehead.

Hot. Much too hot. A moment later, Loki turned his head to a side, and her hand slipped off.

She threw the yet-untouched blanket over him, but it quickly became clear it wasn't going to stay on if Loki continued to trash around.

Perhaps he was having nightmares?

"Loki," she hissed, shaking his arm, "hey, wake up. Loki. Loki!"

He jerked uprights way too quickly, she jumped away, but the hold she had kept on him pulled him with her before she remembered to let go and jumped further away where she staggered and almost lost her balance. Loki was less lucky; he crashed onto the floor, ending up in an ungraceful tangle of limbs and the blanket. A low groan wriggled free of his throat.

"'m sorry." She kneeled beside him. Loki blinked a couple of times and only watched.

"I had to wake you. The couch's too small, and maybe we should so something 'bout your fever."

He blinked once more.

"Um, so, can you get up?"

"Yes."

At least he answered. She wasn't sure how truthfully, though, until he was standing again, albeit a bit unsure.

"Just ... Sit down on the loveseat, I'll make you a bed, 'key? I've no idea what virus you picked, so I'm not sure if we should try to lower your fever or let it do the work, you know?" She temporarily moved the pillow next to Loki on the loveseat to unfold the sofa bed. "Well … Dunno about you, but I'd be more comfortable without the boots, yeah? I'll get a sheet, be right back."

Rebecca was perhaps beginning to understand why Stark had taken to talking that much. It did do something for the nerves. Not that she was nervous. Or worried. She'd just thought gods couldn't fall ill.

Fine, she didn't like seeing Loki in pain. Or even more pain; he seemed to have enough to deal with already. She didn't have the guts to ask about it.

It took her a minute to make the bed while Loki took off his boots.

"Sure you don't want something else to wear? A t-shirt?"

He shook his head.

She placed some extra pillows onto the sofa. "What about the fever? You want some pills? Or just leave it and wait?"

"Leave it," he said simply and helped himself up by holding the armrest of the loveseat. His trembling had not ceased.

"You want another blanket?"

Loki nodded and she was somewhat glad she'd asked; he wouldn't have mentioned it by himself, surely. As it was, he eased himself onto the makeshift bed, propped by the pillows, and tightly wrapped the blanket around his shoulders.

Rebecca disappeared to get him another one, then decided to grab two just in case, and dumped them onto the bed on her way to the kitchen where she started making tea.

It hadn't happened often that she'd had to nurse somebody to health, just Leah a couple of times, and even that only before she'd found Dean, who'd always fussed around her like a mother hen. They'd been adorable. Rebecca had been silently hoping they'd marry. Not that it mattered, anymore.

She picked up an apple and sliced it, poured another glass of water, and returned to Loki. No doubt he didn't have appetite, but if his body was anything like a human's, it needed nourishment, nevertheless.

One of his eyebrows arched a little, but he accepted the water without a word. He shook his head at the apple, however.

Rebecca sighed. He hadn't given the impression of being one of those men who acted like children when sick.

"You have to eat something. Even if you're not hungry."

His answer surprised her.

"I am hungry."

"That's usually a good sign. You should eat then."

"I'll throw it up."

"Ah. Oh. No apples then. How about bread? Pasta? Yogurt?"

Loki shook his head. "I'll throw everything up, you need not bother."

"I can get you pills for digestion?"

"No. Just … Let me be. No pills."

Rebecca nodded. She was running out of ideas anyway, and she didn't want to object too strongly. Loki was the expert on god anatomy here, not she, he should know what he was doing.

Not that she knew what _she_ was doing. It was easier to let the care-for-the-patient instincts kick in than ponder all the more complicated and complex aspects of the matter.

She took a slice of the apple herself.

"Tell me if you change your mind. I'll bring you tea when it's done, and then you can rest."

He muttered a word or two under his breath, but they were too quiet to hear. Rebecca took it as consent.

There wasn't much choice.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

In the end she found herself wishing she'd made him eat something, after all. Then, at least, he would have something to throw up.

It had been hard to maintain focus at work. Leaving Loki alone felt wrong, irresponsible. There weren't many occasions when she'd come home quite so fast. Sadly, it didn't make her feel any better to find Loki on the floor on all fours, retching blood.

The word "shit" trembled on her lips for a moment before it died. Her bag landed on the sofa, her knees hit the floor hard, an arm wrapped around Loki's shoulders on its own accord. He coughed; his body shook. Rebecca's forearm brushed his neck, the too hot skin. Another coughing fit seized him, blood surged from his throat, and he choked.

"Shit."

She didn't know what to do. A fever, yes, but this? She wasn't qualified for anything like this, and calling a doctor was not an option. Calling _anybody_ was not an option, because she could hardly blame it on her curiosity, no matter how never-ending it was, without arousing suspicion.

A sting of pain in her lip came as a distant notion. She gently pulled Loki's hair away from his face—the tips were stained with blood already—and hit his back a couple of times to help him with the coughing.

He sucked in a desperate breath, spit out a little more blood, and finally, finally took a deep, albeit shaky breath and sat back on his haunches. Rebecca let go of his hair, but her hand remained on the back of his neck.

"Tell me," she all but choked out, "what am I supposed to do with you? I can stuff you with pills, I can get you things, just tell me to do _something_."

Loki wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked positively terrible, pale as Death, the circles under his eyes even darker, the eyes themselves losing that stubborn spark that had refused to be subdued no matter what emotions his green orbs held, and now there was crimson smeared over his lips and jaw.

"Water." His voice was raspy and raw, the word gasped as if it hurt him to speak.

Rebecca stumbled to her feet. It was a miracle she remembered to kick off her shoes before she scurried to the kitchen to grab first a glass and then a bottle of water and a towel. Her fingers worked automatically, wetting the towel she then raised to Loki's face without asking. He took it, cleaned his face while Rebecca mercilessly twisted her lower lip between her teeth and the fabric of her trousers between her fingers. She filled the glass with water just to occupy herself; staring at Loki the whole time seemed intrusive.

He accepted the glass silently, but with a grateful look in his eyes. His throat worked as he swallowed. She gave him the bottle, too, and he drank.

"What …" Rebecca gathered the towel in her hands. "What's actually wrong with you?"

It was a twisted kind of smile she received, distorted in all the wrong ways, and much more of an answer than his words.

"It'll be over soon."

It made her wish she could peek into his mind. That appeared to be a subject she could write novels about if only she could get close enough. Now, she only nodded, though.

"I'll get more water. Tea, if you want."

"Whatever you will."

"Kay. Um, why don't you lie down? I'll clean the … This. It's fine. Want anything else?"

Loki breathed in and out once before he turned his gaze to her. "Have you got something against pain?"

"Yeah. Sure. Sure, I'll find 'em. Okay?"

Eyes closed, he nodded.

Once.

* * *

A/N: There. Sorry I left you waiting. I'm spending much more time working on One Day at a Time, and school's been demanding. Thank you for reading the story. Leave a review, yes?


	20. Chapter 20: Written in Blood

Part I: Two Steps from Hell—Salvation

* * *

**Chapter XX–Written in Blood**

_And I know these voices in my head  
Are mine alone_

_~Kelly Clarkson: Addicted_

And there, where the forest was the thickest, trees suddenly gave way to a line of bushes, and those to grass, cut into two unequally big parts by a clear, exuberant rivulet. He pushed branches and leaves aside to slip onto the clearing, relishing the warm touch of the sun on his face. It was an unfamiliar territory, and he wondered if Thor had ever been here. Perhaps. But he couldn't ask, for he didn't even know where "here" was.

Shadows only allowed him so many steps before they became alive. Cold tentacles gripped his limbs, pulling him back towards the forest, into the darkness behind, while trees grinned wickedly, their eyes dead black holes. Wood twisted, grunted like an old woman. Pupils appeared, then scleras, gaping holes grew lips, wooden claws fingers. Men stepped forward, looming over him.

He moved backwards. Fire licked his feet.

"You, you …" He tried to swallow the knot in his throat. "You don't know who I am. My father will kill you," he told them.

"Oh, we know who you are …"

The ground wavered, grass burning and burning until there was nothing left but polished stairs, and he had to look up again, always up, _Brother please_, at the sun, at the moon, at the sun …

Hair danced with the wind, strands the colour of ripe wheat. There was a hole in his chest.

Above his clavicle.

"Why?"

Gentle laughter, so gentle.

"Why what?" The voice was odd, not like laughter, really wondering.

"Why me? Why not me?"

His body was burning, but it was a cold fire, singing to everything cold, cold sweat, something even colder around his wrists and on his forehead, but nothing was different on his skin.

Up, up, up.

"Laufey's son."

"Father?"

"Which one?"

"Father."

"Laufey."

"No."

Why couldn't they see? He was not like them, _he was not he was not he was not_!

"Those plans no longer matter …"

How could he be so cold and so hot at the same time? His head was spinning, it was hard to think …

"You never … liked me. Am I right?"

"Loki?"

"Answer me."

"I … Of course, I …"

He didn't know that voice. What did it matter. Arguing with voices was nothing new.

"Don't lie!"

"I'm not lying."

He hated them, he didn't know the voice, could a voice feel pain? He would like that, squeezing the life right out of it. His blood screamed revenge, and how he hated all those voices!

"_Don't _lie! _Don't fucking lie to me!_"

"I won't, I won't, Loki, stop, please, I swear I won't lie, Loki _please_!"

He was hurting so badly.

His hand turned blue. This couldn't be happening, not this. He must have seen wrong, because, because …

"Breathe."

In the midst of battle. Snow offered comfort.

"I want to be like him," he told it.

Life never stopped. He was forced to kill again, one of his own, was that true, was he one of them?

His arm swung the knife on impulse.

"Loki. Lokes. Calm down."

_This wasn't real this wasn't real this wasn't real …_

It hurt. He hurt so much, too much. Death would be a relief.

Thor saw it in his eyes, understood, he knew he was going to let go. For once, Thor understood. Miracles happened, only too late, and he was looking up again, at those stupid blue eyes he couldn't forget, eyes he loved and hated, because Thor had been there, yet he had not, just there, not really _there_, and then he squinted at some other face, half veiled with darkness. He didn't know these eyes.

Thor asked him to come home.

Death.

He didn't have a home.

He couldn't go and he didn't want to.

He wanted to run.

Death.

Blood filled his mouth.

Either way, death.

Coughing hurt.

Death would take away the pain.

"Please …"

Up, up.

A faceless crowd.

They were supposed to be his friends, in name if nothing else, but they never were, never his, never loyal, even as he stood above them, when he stood at the highest place one could reach, he was bellow Thor. They were kneeling, but how much was that worth?

He hated Thor.

"Did you mourn?"

"We all did."

"Liar. Take them off." It stung to see those vambraces on Thor. He was stupid, he believed a lie.

Thor always believed.

Loki lied too much.

"But you made me."

Blue eyes were unwavering.

"You don't believe my truth."

"Laufey's son."

"No. Father. Father, please. I could have done it!"

Why didn't they believe?

"I know you could. I know."

He remembered the way Frigga's hand used to feel in his hair, on his forehead, for a second, before something cold was there again, and maybe he was lying, lying in the open air?

He'd never heard whispers in space before. Only voices, mocking, disrespectful, truthful. Never soft.

"It's okay, Loki, it's okay …"

"It hurts."

Maybe whispers would listen.

"I know. But you'll be fine."

"Why do you believe me?"

"Why not?"

"I lie."

Odin didn't believe him. He stood there, above (_always up, always_), looking, and didn't believe.

"Me too. Sometimes."

This wasn't real. Just one more picture his brain had created in order to escape pain, one more blissful moment of forgetfulness that was bound to leave him hurting even more once it had passed …

Where was Thor now? His father?

That one eye was piercing.

"Why didn't you come? Why didn't anybody see?"

Heimdal saw everything …

He choked, coughs trashing his body.

"Spit it out. Loki. Spit it out!"

He shook his head. "You didn't. You didn't see, you didn't. Say you didn't!"

"I didn't."

"You didn't. You only …"

He was forced on his knees, stubbornly staring at the figure on top of the stairs.

He hadn't seen and he wouldn't ask.

Nobody ever asked anything.

Nobody listened.

"Are you there?"

The whisper. Maybe.

This wasn't real.

"Yes."

"Help me."

"How?"

"I don't know."

I don't know.

I don't know …

I don't know …

Don't know …

Don't …

Don't …

I …

~*oO*o*Oo*~

The ringing was too loud. Slowly, his dreams started to fade and reality to sharpen, the ringing forming an uninterrupted connection to the latter. It felt like an alarm had set off right next to his ear …

"Jarvis? Jarvis …"

Speaking was sooo hard.

"Tur'it off …"

"You have a visitor, sir."

"Tell 'em to go away," he slurred. "It's not even ... not even … it's—_six in the morning_!?"

"It's Ms Reed, sir. She said it was urgent."

Tony muttered something unintelligible, rolled over to get up, and fell off the bed with a loud _thud_.

"Shit!"

He hated mornings. But six, six was not even morning yet! That was _before_ morning! What did she want?!

"Should I let her in, sir?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll meet her downstairs."

He grabbed the nearest pair of jeans and a Black Sabbath T-shirt and ran a hand through his hair, yawning. He half walked, half stumbled down the halls, only to see his living room (the one closest to the door) and the floor empty.

"Where's she?"

"Refused to come in, sir."

Tony sighed. Rebecca probably wasn't used to be let in by an AI. Whatever.

He opened the door, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes—

And would have closed it immediately if it weren't for his visitor. It was pouring outside, wind howling like wolves at fool moon, thunder shaking the air, lightning cutting the sky in half. And Rebecca stood outside, shaking like a leaf, with arms wrapped around her torso, drenched through and through. She was holding her upper arms so strong her knuckles had turned white and her fingers would surely leave bruises. Brown strands were plastered to her face, water dripping down on her collarbones, visible above the edge of her hoodie.

"Shit. Come in."

"I don't wanna make your house wet." Her voice was so _weak_.

"Never mind my house, I'm a billionaire."

Before she could object, his hand closed around her upper arm and pulled her in. "You look like you've come out of a washing machine. Did you walk here or what? Never mind, I'll get you a towel and …"

Light hit her face and Tony's eyes narrowed. She was pale, ghostly pale, her eyes red and puffy and bloodshot, lips bitten until she'd drawn blood and just as colourless as the rest of her, and there were specks of something dark red on her neck and what little he could see of her white tee, along with a necklace of bruises around her throat. There was something black under her fingernails, and her pendant, broken and smeared and now stained with—he couldn't deny it—blood, wasn't tucked under her clothes for a change. Jeans, Converse shoes, no umbrella—she wasn't dressed for rain.

"I took a cab," Rebecca rasped, then coughed to get her voice to work, but it didn't seem to help much; it was still quiet and shaky. "I … I need your help."

"Right. You do." Where was Pepper when one needed her? "Okay, why don't you sit down in the living room, and I'll bring you towels and something dry to wear? There should be a blanket somewhere, you can wrap yourself in, and then we can talk about what happened to y—"

"Not for me. I'm fine."

"But you—" _look like you haven't slept for three days, you've been crying, you're bleeding and shaking, and you came here during a storm despite the lightning, so explain to me how you're fine?_

"'s not my blood." She took a deep breath. "I … _Please_, listen to me. Promise me you'll listen."

Tony nodded and was about to say that yes, he could do that, when she unzipped her hoodie and pulled it off, and his eyes went wide and eyebrows arched high, because she was left standing in a white tee, plastered to her skin and totally transparent.

"Am, what are you—"

Rebecca paid him no heed. She turned around, grabbed the edge of her tee, and pulled it up, pealing the fabric off her back.

"Is it … bad?" she asked after about half of eternity of tense silence.

"Bad?" Tony gasped. "That's … What's happened?"

The scar was big, running down the whole length of her backbone (as much as he could see), about an inch wide, with jagged edges. It looked worse than what he had on his chest, and he swallowed.

Rebecca turned back to face him, pulled the tee down, and put the hoodie back on.

"I was hit by lightning," she said quietly, biting the inside of her lower lip. Must be a subconscious action, seeing her lips were already abused.

"Lightning?" Realisation sank in. Her back. The spinal cord. "How the hell did you survive that?"

She held up a hand to make him stop. When she spoke, her voice was shaking.

"It was … terrible. Like every nerve in my body was on fire. I remember blood. And darkness. It … It must have been seconds, but I—it hurt so _bad_. Someone was screaming. Me, I guess. And I guess that was why I couldn't speak. But I … If I could, I would have begged to die."

Her lips were visibly trembling now, and the breath she took to steady herself didn't really seem to help.

"I woke up in a hospital a couple hours later. With nothing but a scar."

"Nothing … You …" Tony rubbed his forehead. "Let me get this straight. You got hit by lightning. In your _backbone_. And you healed in a matter of _hours_. Not even the best hospital can do that. You should have died!"

Rebecca shifted uncomfortably. "I should have died more than once lately, and I have died even more times in my dreams. But I … You got one thing wrong. They didn't patch me up. There was nothing but a scar on my back when I woke up. In Paris."

"_In Paris?"_

Rebecca pressed her lips together. She wasn't going to say anything else. Fine, he could work that ou—

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Tony's jaw dropped.

* * *

A/N: Please review.


	21. Chapter 21: Cats Find Their Way

**Chapter XXI–Cats Find Their Way**

_Angel of gladness, so you know of anguish,_

_Shame, of troubles, sobs, and of remorse,_

_And the vague terrors of those awful nights_

_That squeeze the heart like paper in a ball?_

_Angel of gladness, do you know of pain?_

_~Baudelaire, Reversibility _

Tony Stark was not prone to gawking, but no matter how much he would deny it later, his jaw hung somewhere at the level of his knees.

"Loki!" he exhaled. "Loki saved you? Why did Loki save you? Even better, why was he there when you—no, why were _you_ there, wait are you running from him, has he hurt you? Those bruises, was he trying to kill you? Threatening you?"

"Stark"— she managed to give him the Look, although she was clearly distressed—"shut up."

He frowned. "I don't like this one bit."

"Stark. Silence. Please."

She looked so, so tired at the moment. Exhausted.

"You haven't been sleeping," he noted. She nodded.

"No. I haven't." One wet hand ruffled her tresses. A puddle was beginning to form at her feet.

"You're running my floor."

She glared, eyebrows forming two furious lines. "It's fucking water, Stark!" she snapped. "Just. Water! And I'm sorry you pulled me in, I'm obviously unwanted! Enjoy the rest of your worry-free morning!"

She turned on her heels like a storm, wet strands flying for a blink of an eye before they hit her shoulders.

A small voice in the back of Tony's head congratulated him with malicious sarcasm. A back of a woman leaving was not a new sight for him. This was different, though, and he knew it. Bullshiting was his defence mechanism. Afterthoughts about what kind of message he was sending to people came later.

He blinked, something clicked, and he was suddenly absolutely positive that Rebecca's back was not the last part of her he ever wanted to see. Not because she had knowledge about him that could potentially bring him to the ground if she told it the way other leeches liked it to be told. He didn't even know why. Saying he was a man with conscience was too cliché and not enough Tony Stark. Blame it on curiosity, that would have to be a good enough answer.

He ran after her and grabbed her arm, the pull making her turn around. Tony was drenched in a second, but he didn't care much. Rebecca's eyes were overflowed with tears.

Stupid, stupid teary eyes. Always made him realise he'd been a jerk.

"Sorry," he said with an apologetic tilt of his head. "My tongue tends to get the best of me. Let's go in and dry up, and I promise I'll listen and we'll fix this, okay?"

He might have thought her eyes huge in some attractive way if it weren't for Pepper. Her eyes … Well.

Rebecca followed him without a word, patiently waiting while Tony went to get changed, bring towels and some clothes Pepper had here for emergency cases. He was sure she wouldn't mind his lending them to the other woman.

"You go in there and change"—he ushered her into the living room—"and call me when you're done."

He spent the next few minutes pacing up and down the hall. A voice in the back of his head was telling him he was about to be pulled into a giant mess, but then again, he'd already been. Tony needed to find Loki, Rebecca had information about him. That was the simple part. How the situation had come to be …

He rubbed his eyes, not to chase away clinging pieces to sleep—they were long gone—simply, because it gave him something to do, and perhaps made it a tiny little bit easier to think, or maybe that was just habit speaking.

Rebecca called him quietly. She looked small, curled up at the end of a sofa like that, and strange in jeans and a white shirt he was used to seeing on Pepper. She'd wrapped a towel around her head. The circle of bruises on her neck was unsettling Tony. They had to be Loki's work.

"Okay." He sat down opposite to her. "I'm listening."

Rebecca's lips trembled as she took a breath. "I … I think he's dying. And, and I can't let him die, because he saved me and … and … But I don't know what to do, or, or, or … I need—I … I know he did bad things, but I didn't know where else to go, and I just can't stand the thought of him dying on my couch, and …"

Words caught in her throat, she breathed in, and lifted her gaze to Tony's. "He didn't do anything to me. And he did save my life."

"It would seem so …" It was hard to accept it at face value. "Why'd he do that?"

"Cause I'… ve done something nice for him."

"And you've done that because?"

"I owed him."

"For something he'd done for you because he'd owed you?"

She nodded. Tony thought they had, perhaps, the same thing going through their minds: what the hell had she got herself into?

"What about the nightmares?"

Rebecca diverted her eyes. Her fingers were clutching the edge of the nearest pillow. "I deserved that."

"Ookay …"

"Before you ask," –she swung one leg over the other—"yeah, the bruises are his doing."

She had to know he was going to try to speak up, because she pinned him down with a hard look that demanded he sit and listen.

"He's been delirious for the last day and a half. Though … he was closer to unconscious when I left. Can you"—she twisted her lip between her teeth—"help him? And maybe … not hand him over? Just … Dunno, let him heal and then go back to hunting? 's not fair if you capture him now …"

Tony sighed. His sense of honour was bound to agree with her. His desire to end the whole thing did not like the idea one bit. He stood somewhere in the middle.

Running a hand through his hair didn't help. Pity.

"Let's get a car, I'm coming with you. You can tell me what you know on the way, and then we'll see."

"But you can't promise not to let SHIELD have him."

Not a question. There was no point in denying.

"No. Not right now, I can't. Jarvis, if somebody asks, I have personal business to see to. Not that they'll call, it's not even morning yet. How can you be up at this inhuman hour, Blue Jay?"

"I haven't gone to sleep," Rebecca said bitterly, following him to the garage.

He swallowed a reply. Saying he looked better after a sleepless night than she did was a bit too sarcastic for the situation. He chose a car instead, got in, started it. It had been a while since he'd been driving through the city by himself.

Rebecca was curled on her seat, elbow resting where the window began. She was tracing her lips with a finger, not biting them for once.

"Well? I'm all ears."

They encountered the first traffic lights. Red, naturally.

"He appeared at my place, like, two days ago. Out of blue. Said he needed a place to stay. I figured he was ill. He got fever, he wouldn't eat, said he'd throw it up. He ended up retching blood, though."

Red turned green, Tony stepped on the pedal. "Go on?"

"Um, his fever refused to drop. Turned into delirium like a day and a half ago, I think. He'd never told me what was wrong, but he hadn't seemed too worried. Maybe gods are supposed to heal from much worse stuff than us? Dunno. But he looked like hell when I left. I really don't want him to die there."

"I'm not a doctor, you know."

"Yeah. But you're supposed to be smart. And Banner's a doctor. "

"True." Tony sighed. Bruce wasn't going to be happy about this. At all. Except, maybe, that small part of him that wanted to explore the god's anatomy and blood and whatnot. Otherwise, he'd probably be fine with Loki dying, too. Tony knew he wouldn't mind. Too much. But Rebecca would. That was interesting. Not the easiest thing to understand, but _interesting_. Owing favours, huh? And Loki had, it seemed, returned them. Now, that could work. If Bruce saved his life, Loki would owe him a favour …

Useful.

"He won't be too happy about this," was all he said.

"'m not either." Then she laughed. A short, distressed, sharp-as-glass laugh. "This is crazy. All of this's crazy."

Tony shrugged. "You might want to adapt your definition of crazy. Helps to keep you sane."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess. 's still a mess."

He saw her bury her face into her hands with the corner of his eye.

"I'm sorry." Her voice was muffled by her hands. "I'm sorry."

"For?" Tony turned the steering wheel. She looked up.

"You hate Loki. He tried to destroy Manhattan."

"Actually, he stole the Tesseract and wanted to rule Earth. He killed agent Coulson, threw me out of a window, and he can keep up with my bantering."

If she didn't understand half of it (and she couldn't possibly), she didn't show it.

"So, you hate him," she deadpanned.

Tony shrugged. "Mostly, I just want to see the whole affair finished. And I really don't like him. But …"

Loki was clever, a quality Tony appreciated. Loki was crazy; not so much Tony's thing, but some said Tony Stark was nuts, too. And the glimpses of the god he'd caught … They could have been glimpses of himself. "I dislike him," he concluded, then glanced at the GPS to see where to turn next.

There was silence from his right side.

"Thor's his brother, right?" Rebecca asked eventually.

"Depends." He rummaged through his pocket. "Gum?"

"No thanks. Depends how?"

"Loki's adopted."

"Hm."

Then she said no more until they reached the building. They way she led him up, unlocked the door, pushed it closed again, it all showed she'd done it a thousands of times before. Probably not in somebody else's clothes, nor heading straight for the unfolded sofa bed. Tony followed.

Loki was lying on his back under what looked like a dozen of blankets. If not for the slightest rising and falling of his chest, he might have been dead. His skin was ashen, a trail of blood leading from the corner of his mouth, more crimson staining the sheets. A compress was lying on his forehead.

"He's sleeping?"

"More likely out," Rebecca answered quietly. "Might be the painkillers. They always make me sleepy. Annoying to no end, really. 'm guessing fever, though."

She crouched, pushing strands of hair away from Loki's face. Something about the scene nudged Tony in a way he couldn't explain. A sleeping criminal looking worse than Death, and a young woman, kneeling, brushing his hair. Affectionate gestures and Loki had never fit together in his mind before. Well … He stored the thoughts for later. Now, he just watched Rebecca shake Loki softly.

"Hey," she muttered. "Loki, hey. You hear me? Wake up, can you do that? I need you to wake up. Loki."

But he didn't respond. Rebecca straightened again.

"I'll go change. Can you wake him up?"

"Yeah, I don't think that's such a …" She was already gone, and Tony finished in silence, "… good idea."

Okay, great. He was so not going to wake Loki. It probably wouldn't gain a positive reaction from the said god. So, he stood there, letting his eyes wander around the room.

Luckily, Rebecca didn't leave him waiting too long. She reappeared in washed out jeans and a light blue T-shirt with some futuristic silver patterns on it.

"You're not helping." She pouted and kneeled down beside the couch. Well, what had she been expecting? It hadn't been more than ten minutes ago that she'd concluded Tony hated Loki.

She shook the latter's shoulder carefully.

"Loki."

She _cared_.

"Loki, hey. Wake up."

She had to shake him once more before his eyelids fluttered and green appeared through the slits. Not angry or manic, this time.

"It's okay." Her voice was ridiculously soft, as if she were talking to a child. From the way Loki stared at her, it was impossible to tell whether he registered the meaning of her words, at all. His lips moved, though, forming something that sounded like "whispers".

Rebecca frowned. "Stark's here," she went on. "He'll help you, okay? They won't lock you up or anything."

He nodded before turning his head enough to lay his eyes on Tony. They were feverish, and the billionaire suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

"Bruce'll patch you up," he offered.

Loki didn't respond. His gaze returned to Rebecca, brow furrowing a little. "You speak like the whispers," he said weakly.

"Yeah." She smiles sadly. "I guess I do."

"Please tell me that was not an inside joke."

"Don't worry, Stark." Rebecca took the compress off Loki's forehead. "There is nothing funny about it. To be honest"—she stood up, closing the distance between them—"I'm not completely sure what it's supposed to mean, either."

And that was somehow relieving, because helping an ill criminal could still be acceptable, but having inside jokes with the said criminal? Well, he'd have to work on that concept. Or, adapt his definition of crazy. Yeah, probably that, seeing as _he_ _actually had_ an inside joke with Loki. Oh, great.

"You'll have to move." She was talking to Loki again. "We'll help. Right?"

The look she threw Tony allowed no objection. An excellent copy of Pepper. Oh, Pepper was going to just love this, too!

"Right."

He still let Rebecca help the god sit up first. She pushed away the blankets, which left Loki shivering, so she wrapped one around his shoulders again, doing everything carefully. Placing one of Loki's arms over her shoulders, she gestured Tony to do the same on the other side, and they slowly helped him up. Loki was practically hanging on them, anyway. Tony noticed him blink furiously as if trying to focus. He could feel the shaking of his body, now. Unnerving.

A snail would probably proceed faster. Tony was just about to protest when a violent coughing fit tore through Loki, causing him to double over and end on the floor. Blood fell out of his mouth like spring rain onto a thirsty soil, and Loki somehow managed to let out a pained moan amid all the coughing. He was a miserable sight to behold, and Tony suddenly found his conscience and sympathy for the guy. Well, he did have a habit of stumbling over things he wasn't expecting to find.

Rebecca was suddenly gone for a moment, returning with a plastic water bottle she opened and offered to Loki. He didn't respond. His eyes were on the floor, distant, glazed over. He muttered something under his breath, but the words were too quiet and too incoherent to understand. A deep wrinkle had taken root on Rebecca's forehead.

"Can you carry him?" she asked Tony.

"Oh joy. I've always wanted to do that."

Still, he wrapped the blanked around the god anew and picked him up; the guy really wasn't too heavy. He should have had more weight.

By the time they reached the car, Tony felt his muscles ache, nevertheless. Rebecca helped him lay Loki onto the back seats, then climbed in herself and let his head rest in her lap. Silence reigned over the car with unquestionable authority, only Loki muttered something unintelligible from time to time. Tony saw Rebecca stroking his hair when he glanced into the mirror.

Naturally, they got stuck in a traffic jam for a while. It was as good a time to call Bruce as any, so Tony dialled the number and put the call on speakers.

"_Hello?" _came a response after a while, heavy with sleep.

"Shrek, hi."

"_Tony? What are you doing up yet?"_

The latter rolled his eyes. Just because he _usually_ didn't function before twelve and at least two coffees, it didn't mean he _never_ did.

"I've got work for you, doc. You're not gonna like it."

"_What is it?"_

"About that … I don't want another hole in my windows, so could you turn the Hulk off and the doctor on?"

"_What is it?"_

"You know, I really don't like broken windows. Too much like modern art. I—"

"Shut up," snapped Rebecca. "Wasn't it you who broke them, anyway?"

"Beside the point."

"'s not."

"_Is that the journalist girls? What was the name …?"_

"Rebecca. Blue Jay. NY. Take your pick. Loki calls her Whispers."

"Shut _up_, Stark, or _I_'ll break you windows. Every single one of them."

"_Loki?"_

Tony nodded before he remembered Bruce couldn't see. He'd call others stupid for that, but he needed to focus on driving again, and he was dealing with an extraordinary situation, so he was forgiven.

"Yap. We need you to save his ass."

"_What?"_

"Breathe, buddy, breathe. Windows, remember? Hey, you still there?"

"_Yes." _The answer was strained, but he was still talking. Which was a good sign. When he started roaring like Fury, worse than Fury actually (oh God, that was possible!), then Tony would worry.

"Listen, Rudolph's ill or something. He might be dying. Thor will make us eat our guts if we allow that."

For a while, all he heard was breathing. Then,

"_Okay. Are you coming to the Tower?"_

"Yes." He took the turning to the left. "In five minutes or so. You wouldn't believe how slow cars are."

"_You're driving through Manhattan."_

"I know. You're boring. They're boring. Anyway, we'll be there. Get some stuff ready. And maybe don't tell Thor. He's not up yet, is he?"

"_No. Snoring loud enough to keep the whole city awake. Is that why you're up already?"_

"Ha ha. Very funny. Don't call SHIELD. They're not to know about this."

"_Is there a special reason?"_

"Yeah. Blue Jay makes better puppy eyes than Puss in Boots." At least, that was part of a reason. The other was Loki, paler than that Scandinavian girl Tony'd had some years ago, and blood, all that blood that was still just as crimson as anybody else's. "You've seen Shrek, right? You must have seen Shrek?"

"_I know the cat." _A sigh. _"All right, I'm not telling anyone."_

"Thanks. See you then."

Bruce was the one to hang up. Tony only sighed exhaustingly. He felt Rebecca place a hand onto the back of his seat and lean closer.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"I'm only scared of Thor."

"Of course."

He caught her weak smile in the mirror.


	22. Chapter 22: Opposites

A/N: To all those who left a review-thank you so much! Serously, I'd kinda given up on reviews... So here, have the internet, you're the best.

Part II: The Phantom of the Opera: Journey to the Cemetery

* * *

**Chapter XXII–Opposites**

_You mustn't always believe what I say. Questions tempt you to tell lies, particularly when there is no answer.  
~Pablo Picasso_

Stark tower had room for everything. Whoever had designed it must have been a person with too much time on their hands. Why else would he think of a building with a runway in it? At least, Stark claimed there was one; Rebecca hadn't seen it. She'd got a good look at medical facilities, though, and the blue plastic chair on which she was sitting. She might have been biting her lip, it was hard to tell. Something heavy lay in her chest.

Banner had taken it better than she'd been expecting. His professional side had kicked in almost immediately, and together with Stark he'd carried Loki inside, then set on examining him. Rebecca had spent the time standing in a corner, silently watching the doctor check Loki's temperature (he'd frowned deeply—such a fever would have killed a human already), look at his eyes, put an IV in the crook of his elbow, take his blood … Loki'd muttered something incoherent from time to time at first. Eventually he'd started whimpering in pain, and Rebecca had torn herself away from the wall, his pain knocking the air out of her lungs. She hadn't moved away after that. Banner produced morphine from somewhere. She'd brushed tears off Loki's cheeks with her thumb. His body had spasmed a couple of times, he'd let out a broken scream, and then Banner was there with the second injection to put the god to sleep. He'd left, saying Loki's blood needed to be inspected. Rebecca'd remained where she was.

She was holding Loki's hand, absent-mindedly watching his chest move. Her mind was full of the images of last night, wide, green eyes, all the pained sounds, his pleading voice.

_Brother, please._

_Father. _

_Answer me._

She wondered what he'd been seeing.

_Don't fucking lie to me!_

His grip had had all the strength of steel, unyielding, destructive. For the first time, he'd scared the hell out of her; there'd been a moment she'd thought that was it.

_It hurts, it hurts, death, please, liar, you made me—_

_Father, _please_. I could have done it._

_I lie._

_You didn't see, you didn't. Say you didn't!_

_Help me. _

There'd been pain. And something had happened in the past, involving Thor and Odin, it had to have happened. If she only knew what.

_Please don't, please—_

_Don't._

_Stop it stop it stop it—_

_Thor—_

_Help me—_

_Thor—_

_Father—_

_Please!_

Tears had spilled over his pale cheeks, mixing with blood. His face had been the very personification of despair.

And she hadn't known what to do.

The idea of knowing Loki's past filled her with curiosity and intrigue as much as it did with dread. There was a story behind every emotion people experienced, and there was so much darkness in Loki's feelings …

She rubbed her eyes. Exhaustion began creeping in on her. Adrenalin subsided. She wasn't the only one to take care of Loki anymore. There were people who could help him much better. Stark didn't look like he was going to call SHIELD any second now.

Exhaling, she pushed the chair backwards a bit so she could lean onto the bed with her arms.

Loki's breathing sounded so peaceful compared to the previous night, and she wanted to know what had driven him to attack Earth more than ever. How high were the chances of ever hearing the story?

She was so tired. Closing her eyes for a minute couldn't hurt, right …? Right …

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Her sleep was restless. Strange shapes haunted her, darkness laughed, colours were blurred, and when she woke up, she couldn't remember a single thing from her dream. Her neck was stiff as hell; not really a surprise after sleeping in such a position. The clock on the wall claimed it was almost noon, now. Somebody had placed two glasses of water on the nightstand beside Loki's bed. The god was still sound asleep, complexion almost as pale as the sheets.

Rebecca rose to her feet. It had been more than four hours; Banner should have some results by now. With one final glance at Loki, she left the room and headed for the elevator, when a disembodied voice startled her.

"Mr Stark, Dr Banner, and Mr Odinson are at the top floor, Ms Reed."

Jee, talking computers. "Thanks," she muttered. "Jarvis, was it?"

"Yes, Ms Reed."

She nodded, not sure whether he could see it or not—Stark probably had cameras installed—and entered the elevator. She hadn't been at the top before, but she figured it could hardly be less grandiose than the rest of the tower.

It turned out she'd been right. There was a soft _whoosh_ as the doors slid aside and an opened penthouse filled her sight, all tall windows and shinny floor, and, of course, a bar. Three figures were gathered around it, Stark sipping some drink, Thor holding his head in his large hands, Banner turning a pen in his hand. They weren't talking.

Rebecca walked over, sat down on a free bar stool. She didn't say anything, either. Her eyes revealed enough questions. Still more were held back.

Banner rubbed his forehead. "I don't know what's wrong. All I have are symptoms, and while his blood is immensely interesting, it is useless right now. It's a bit different than ours, and I can't tell what should and what shouldn't be there."

"Why don't you compare it to Thor's?"

The corner of Banner's mouth twitched. "Trust me, we've thought of this before?"

"And?"

"Pikachu said it wouldn't help."

Rebecca frowned. "Why's that?"

"We do not share the same blood."

Stark put his drink aside. "Look, we know he's adopted and all, but—holy shit, are you telling us he's not just from a different family but from a different _species_?!"

Rebecca swallowed, her brain working to process the information. Now, that took family issues to a whole new level.

_I want to be like him._

Shit.

She hated that, holding pieces in her hands but having not an inkling of where to put them, knowing there were still pieces out there she had never even seen, so how was she supposed to make them fit together?

Was Loki trying to prove something?

"Wow." Stark shook his head. "So, he's not Asgardian at all?"

"He _is_," stated Thor firmly, leaving no room for disagreeing. But this conversation was straying off its course.

"So"—Rebecca looked at Banner—"what's the conclusion?"

"I can do nothing for him until I know what's wrong. Apart from giving him the basic medication, that is." He suddenly looked her directly in the eyes. "Do you know anything about the origins of his illness?"

"Um … No, I … He didn't say what it was. Just …" She thought back, trying to remember all the lines they'd exchanged. "He mentioned consequences."

"Of what?"

She shrugged. "Dunno. I asked that, too. He was being too vague. 'm sorry, I don't think I can help you with that." She really was, too. After all, she'd promised Loki they would help him. And she didn't like seeing Thor so down; he was the epitome of misery, worried ill for his brother. Not-brother. Pfff.

Her eyes darted towards the terrace.

"'scuse me. I, um, need some air."

Pushing the bar stool aside, she slipped towards the door and then out, into what should be warm spring air. Rain had stopped falling, but the sky was still gray, the air still had a chill that seemed to spread through her insides, too, to it. She wrapped her arms around her torso, stopping at the railing. New York spread before her like a strange blanket of lights, movement, and sound, beneath her, not around her, anymore.

Thor'd said everybody could die.

"Lady Rebecca."

Speaking of the devil …

Her body tensed a bit. The memory of white hot pain was still fresh. "Yeah?"

"You have my gratitude."

"Hm?" She turned to look at the blond demigod, who was looking at her in earnest. "What for?"

"You helped my brother when he was in need. Although I do not understand why he appeared at your dwelling."

"Mm, confusing, I know." She didn't want to be forced into explaining the situation to anyone. How could she, when she thought her head was going to burst if she even so much as attempted to sort everything out.

"Indeed. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, thank you. Wait, actually … Is there a chance you could tell me why Loki attacked Earth?"

Thor's expression grew even more sorrowful, if that was possible.

"I don't know it myself. I've come to understand, lately, that I might not know Loki as well as I thought. I can, however, tell you the last events that took place before I lost my brother …"

"'t would be … appreciated." Unexpected. Welcome.

"It is not easy to speak of this." Thor leaned onto the fence. "Consider it an act of gratitude for what you did." A pause, a breath. "Very well. Loki and I, we were the princes of Asgard. We still are, at the moment. Father had finally decided I was fit to become king, and the coronation was taking place … But it was interrupted. A couple of frost giants found their way past Asgard's defences and into the weapons vault. Father claimed—"

"What are frost giants?"

"Inhabitants of Jotunheim, the world of cold and ice. My father defeated then and took their source of power, the Casket of Ancient Winters. It was the Casket they were after. They were killed by the Destroyer"—Rebecca didn't even bother asking—"and father considered the matter finished. I, on the other hand, wanted war. They had to pay for what they'd done. So, I took my friends and my brother to Jotunheim. Fighting erupted. In the end, we were saved by my father's arrival. He was livid. Yet, he was also disappointed, which was worse."

There were memories behind his eyes, making his gaze distant.

"I was banished, my powers taken, cast to Midgard. It was then I met Jane. She helped me when I had no one else, and she is the nicest woman I—

But this is beside the point. I found Mjolnir, my hammer, only to realise I couldn't lift it, anymore, and was taken into custody by SHIELD. Loki paid me a visit. He told me father had died and I was to remain in exile, for it was the basis for the truce with Jotunheim.

"The day after, my friends appeared. You can imagine my surprise when they told me father was still alive. I couldn't understand why Loki would lie about that. But we were not given time to think; Loki was now the regent, and he sent the Destroyer to Midgard. It was hard to watch. I was powerless while my friends suffered. It had to be stopped. I offered my life in exchange for those of my friends and townspeople. And Loki complied."

"But you're alive!"

"Aye, Lady Rebecca. At the time, my body was but mortal, and the impact nearly killed me. I am alive now, because my sacrifice proved I was worthy to wield Mjolnir. Receiving my powers again was what saved me."

"Mhm."

"We returned to Asgard, my friends and I. I found Loki and mother, a dead frost giant present, at my father's bed—he'd fallen into Odinsleep,"—whatever that was—"and Loki blasted me through the wall. I couldn't believe it. My brother opened the Bifrost, the bridge we used for travelling to other realms, and managed to prevent its being closed again, so that it would build until it tore Jotunheim apart."

Thor looked away for a moment, swallowing.

"There was madness in my brother I had never seen before. He would destroy a whole realm, erase the frost giants forever. We fought. And he said to me back then that I had all that power, and what good did it do me? He was right. He was right. I did the only thing I could, destroyed the bridge. The explosion was nothing I'd ever seen before, it ripped worlds apart, not only skies.

"Father managed to save us from falling into the abyss the last moment. And …"

He rubbed at his eyes. Sadness held his shoulders down.

"Loki let go. He let himself fall. We thought him dead …

"The things he did made no sense to me, then. They do now, somewhat. You see, after my banishment, Loki discovered he was adopted. Father fell into the Odinsleep just then—oh, that is a form of sleep he has to enter to restore his powers—which left Loki on the throne. I think"—he took a heavy breath—"Loki thought he was trying to prove something. Of course, there wasn't anything that needed to be proved. We all loved him, he was family, adopted or not. He _is_ my brother."

Rebecca waited. When it became apparent the tale was finished, she carefully reached out and gave Thor's arm what was supposed to be a comforting pat.

"You … You must love him very much."

"Of course I do. And I'm afraid I might have hurt him, although I know not how. It pains me to see such hatred in his eyes. I do not understand why he has done all that he has done."

"Yeah … So, was there something besides him finding out he was adopted?"

Lots of kids were adopted. Some knew, some didn't, some of them resented the not knowing. Some cut the ties. But no one tried to destroy a world (as far as she knew). Earth was another story, Earth came after. But killing Thor? Joten…Jotunheim? There had to be something more.

"Not that I knew. No, wait. Loki said once he used to live in my shadow. I do not know if it served to insult me or held any truth. My brother is a skilled liar. Even if he always insists he is not my brother."

"Mm." She shifted, so she was leaning onto the railing with a different part of her arms. Wind ruffled her hair. "Listen, big guy. I don't think Loki hates you."

Hope visibly flared up in his eyes. He reminded her on a hopeful puppy.

"You don't?"

"No, I don't."

"Has my brother … said something?"

Rebecca shrugged. It was not her place to tell, albeit nobody else could. She'd simply been an intruder on Loki's privacy; hearing him calling out for Thor did not give her the right to talk about it. Besides, Thor was withholding something from her, too, or so her gut was telling her.

"Mr Odinson."

Rebecca didn't startle this time, but the demigod looked towards the entrance.

"Yes, Voice?"

"Mr Stark asked me to inform you Loki has awoken."

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Thor rushed down to Loki's room like the lightning he was so fond of, Rebecca following in his wake. "Loki has awoken" could mean many things. He could have his eyes open, just staring into the distance, unaware of his surroundings. He could be muttering things again, things she both wanted and feared to understand. He could be completely conscious, yet still not _Loki_. He could be himself. He could be in pain. He could …

Stark and Banner were already there, the latter taking another sample of Loki's blood. The god was sitting, back supported by pillows.

"Brother!"

Somehow, Thor managed to fill the whole room. They were a strange contrast; the blond prince, all over the place, and Loki, dark, pale, small amid the sheets.

"Brother, how are you feeling?" He slipped into the chair Rebecca had been occupying earlier, taking hold of Loki's hand, but the Trickster pulled it away. He didn't answer. Thor looked as if he'd been slapped.

That was a large chasm they had between them. An abyss.

And then, she found herself staring into a pair of green eyes, red-rimmed, tired, and she couldn't read them. It appeared Loki was just looking, but Loki was never just looking. Of course, his eyes weren't always telltale, they rarely were, but when they weren't, they were at least guarded, or expressing what he wanted them to, or, or simply lying, or something, never just looking.

"Brother." Thor pulled those green pools away from her. "What is wrong with you?"

Loki stubbornly pressed his lips together.

"Why won't you talk to me? Brother, please!"

"I am not you brother!"

The words struck her, too, not only Thor, who quite literally flinched back, because there was some desperate passion in them—or was it passionate despair?—something that sounded like the truth, like the absolute truth, and if not, then something Loki wanted to be the truth, and it was sad and painful, and accompanied with a glare that easily surpassed the ones Rebecca's mother would give her when she disobeyed, but the effect was gone the moment coughing shook Loki's body, sending sprinkles of blood over the covers.

Thor leaned closed immediately, but Loki glared again.

"Leave me alone," he managed, falling forwards when Banner slapped his back to help him. His hands closed around the sheets like he was holding on for dear life. "Stop interfering for once."

Thor's brow furrowed. "I'll be back. We'll fix you, brother."

And Loki laughed. It sent shills down Rebecca's spine; the sound was humourless, sharp like shards of glass. It was _wrong_.

"Oh, but you can't," he said, teeth still bared. "Now get out. Get. _Out_."

Surprisingly enough, it was Stark who pulled at Thor's arm, leading him out of the room. Banner looked at his patient once more before his eyes landed on Rebecca, and he followed his fellow Avengers. Rebecca moved closer to the bed.

"You won't let him help you." It was only partly a question. Ten per cent of a question, maybe.

"He can do nothing." Loki's face was one big frown.

Rebecca's teeth grazed the inner side of her lip. Tentatively, she sat down.

"So, you do know what's wrong with you."

"Amusing, how often omission is mistaken for denial." But there was no real amusement in his eyes. Fierceness, yes, all of a sudden. His fists balled the sheets again. "I am not telling him. I don't need his help, I don't want it! He always, _always _interferes, but I am not a child who cannot foresee the consequences of his actions! I don't need him to decide for me!"

Rebecca nodded. Arguing against his point would gain her nothing. And even if, Loki knew Thor much better.

"You're angry with him," she said quietly, so as not to make him defensive.

His eyes narrowed. "Oh, I don't know, why don't you tell me? Everybody seems to know best!"

Okay, not the best way to form her sentence.

"I don't want to hear it from 'everybody'. I'd like to hear the truth."

"And you ask the God of Lies. How brilliant."

She shrugged. "If lies are your truth … _Are_ you angry with him?"

His gaze was not particularly question-friendly. "Maybe I am. But you are most definitely irritating."

"I'll leave if you want me to."

Loki didn't respond. He looked down at his hands, palms opened and turned upwards. His long, elegant fingers were slightly bent, and Rebecca spent a second wondering how they would feel closed around hers. Still, this time she couldn't decipher his silence.

"Do you?" she urged gently.

"No."

Loki took a deep breath, then did it again. He kept his eyes downcast.

"You want to know about Thor? I hate him."

She twisted her lower lip between her teeth. Was Loki aware of all the things he'd spoken in his delirium? Did he hate really Thor, or just wanted to convince himself he did?

Loki wouldn't tell her that.

Or maybe, he would.

"Hate is not the opposite of love," she said slowly.

His eyes stayed on his hands.

* * *

A/N: No idea what I should promise you if you review since I've just given you the internet, but, oh well... You'll have my eternal gratitude?


	23. Chapter 23: Where the Puzzle Pieces Fit

A/N: I promised to update sooner, right? Well, here you go! Thank you for your lovely reviews.

Part III: Thor—Can You See Jane; The Hobbit—Misty mountains cold

* * *

**Chapter XXIII–Where the Puzzle Pieces Fit**

_May you be satisfied to never know why  
Sometimes, someone just wants to die..._

_~Damien Rice: Lonely Soldier _

Loki closed his eyes. No matter how old he was, he looked older right now, exhausted from more than physical condition, probably forced to deal with the worst love-hate relationship in the history of dysfunctional social ties.

Rebecca opened her mouth to reply, but the demigod beat her,

"Thank you."

"It's nothing."

"You don't even know what for."

"What for then?"

Right, because it would be too normal to answer. And Loki defied normal with every breath he took.

"Since we're thanking each other … Thanks for saving my life?"

He let a sound that could be interpreted as "mhm" slip between his lips, sinking into the pillows. "Could've done it better before …" her muttered, half-asleep.

"No matter." Inhale, exhale. "'re you … still in pain?"

"Nhh."

Whatever that meant.

Noticing an extra blanket folded at his feet, she spread it over him. His breathing slowed, sleep taking over. She tried to move away quietly, but once again Loki stopped her with one single word.

"Raven."

"Mm, yeah?"  
Loki's eyes were still closed, but his words were alert. "Don't you dare pity me. I knew exactly what I was doing and what I wanted."

What did one say to that? She would nod, but he wouldn't see it. Still, Rebecca moved her head.

"'Kay. I won't."

The room remained quiet, and after she left Loki's breathing was the only sound echoing between the four walls.

Rebecca spent the next hour on the terrace. The railing was pressing into her back, but she cared very little for it. Feeling the air on her skin made her feel somewhat freer, less burdened, and she kept humming songs to banish the echo of Loki's words out of her mind. Perhaps she shouldn't, but the things Loki had said had so much weight to them, almost literally, it was _hard_ to carry them inside. His pain—harder still.

Her fingers itched to bend strings to her will after so long. She hadn't played the violin for how long now, ten years? Ever since she'd hit it off with Aaron. It couldn't hurt to find her old violin, or could it now?

She didn't know how to play popular songs anyway, and for the uptenth time in her life she wished she'd have chosen to learn how to play guitar instead. Not that she didn't like violins. Well, actually, she didn't particularly care right now. The years when she'd been completely absorbed in playing had passed with her parents' death.

"Hey, Blue Jay."

She looked up. Stark stood between the doors.

"Hm?"

"Shrek has news."

"Yeah?"

Like on cue, Banner and Thor appeared behind the genius, the first serene, the second's facial expression struggling to combine anxiety, hope, and anticipation.

"Loki's fever has fallen."

She saw Thor's face light up, but her heart felt no lighter.

"Why does it sound like that's not necessarily a good thing?"

The corner of Stark's lips slowly curled upwards in an imitation of a smirk. "Smart girl."

"Whatever you say." In truth, she didn't think anything could assure her Loki's condition was improving, unless he started walking, and splashes of colour (however pale) returned to his cheeks, and brilliance to his eyes, unless he stopped looking like he was about to drop dead any moment.

Oh.

Gears turned in her mind things gaining a new aspect with the speed of light. Lightning, maybe.

Her face darkened. Banner probably noticed, for he wasted no more time.

"It might be good. Perhaps he's healing. But it might be a sign his body has stopped fighting whatever it is that it was fighting."

Rebecca chewed the inside of her lip. Things started to fit together, and she did not like it one bit.

The booming of Thor's voice crashed her mental picture, however.

"Nonsense! My brother is stronger than mortals! Little fever won't kill him!"

… _Always interferes …_

And then there was blood and that poisonous glare and _fuck you_.

_It'll be over soon. _

She almost laughed. Ironic, how she was always after the truth and now wished she could remain blind for once. Yes, it would be over soon. Because Loki was dying. And he knew he was. Knew what had caused it. And maybe—she wasn't sure—he'd wanted to die. If he did, did she have any right to prevent it? If he didn't and she did nothing with the knowledge she had … It would be a hard thing to forgive herself. If she ever could.

And oh—

"Hell."

"What is it?"

"My job? There's an exhibition I should see in about ten minutes …"

It seemed surreal. The only normal thing she could think of right now felt like it didn't belong in her life anymore. If that was not a sign it had turned upside down in the last month, then she really didn't know what was.

She also couldn't think of going there right now. Maybe it showed on her face, because Stark sighed, and said,

"I'll call your boss. You can give them an exclusive interview with Tony Stark instead."

"Wha—? I mean, thanks, really, I didn't think … Um, yeah, thank you."

Stark shrugged. "I always insisted I was a philanthropist. People just refuse to see it."

Yeah, that was surely the only reason. Right.

He walked out to her, thoughtful.

"You're worried for Loki." His voice was quiet.

Rebecca glanced towards the door, but the two men (a man and a god?) were retreating back inside. She imagined Thor wished for privacy in his fear. Banner seemed to be a solitude being.

"Yeah. Call me crazy if you will. I know he's bad. But …" She sighed.

"But?"

"He … I … He has a normal side. I mean … when he's like everyone else would be. Like, he's got humanity. Dunno. And he …" She looked over the city. "When he was delirious … I think he's gone through some … bad things."

"We all have."

"I know." She looked back at Stark, who stuck his hands into his pockets.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

Rebecca shook her head.

"You sure? I have donuts."

There was a small spark in his eyes. She cocked her head to a side.

"Mr Stark, are you trying to cheer me up?"

"I don't know. Is it working?"

"I … Maybe. But why? I mean, what do you care about this?"

He pouted like a child. "You wound me, of course I care about you."

"This isn't about me," she said matter-of-factly. "It's about Loki."

"For whom _you _care. I'm trying to figure out why."

Yeah, because she knew that so well she could explain it in her sleep.

"And," he went on, "I've always liked puzzles. Figuratively more than literally."

"I hate puzzles," she replied and pushed her hair off her face. "Especially when I think I've solved them, but I'm not sure."

"Why so, Blue Jay?"

"Because that's the point where you can mess up royally."

His eyebrows rose a little. It reminded her of Loki, even though their faces and expressions were hardly the same.

"And Reindeer Games is the puzzle?"

"No. Yes. But I meant the situation. So … What's with the donuts?"

Stark's mouth curved into a smile, and she tried to mirror it but couldn't tell if she succeeded. They entered the penthouse again. Stark produced a whole box of donuts from somewhere while she joined Dr Banner and Thor in the sitting area. They both reached for food, Thor with none of his usual enthusiasm when it came to food, Banner engrossed in some papers. Stark went away again, probably to grab coffee or something more inappropriate for drinking in the middle of the day. Rebecca pressed her lips together for a moment and parted them with a pop.

"Hey, big guy."

They both looked at her.

"The blond big guy," she specified. "I'm fairly certain you withheld something from me before. So why don't you tell me what it was, and I'll tell you something I know from Loki?"

The look Thor gave her was one of a burdened man. His sigh was heavy.

"You should be weary of everything my brother says, Lady Rebecca."

"Just Rebecca. Why so?"

"He is a liar and a manipulator, and misuses other people's trust. You should not believe him."

Rebecca stared.

"You're his brother, how can you say that?"

"You think it's easy for me?" Thor's face darkened. "I wish I could trust him, but he has abused my trust too many times. And he will do so many times more. But you need not fall for his tricks, it is enough that I do. I don't wish to see your feelings used for his schemes. It would only hurt you."

"So I should never believe what he says?"

"—Not never, just be careful what—"

"—And how do you think that will make _him_—shit!"

If he did mean to die, had she contributed to it? She'd seen how surprised he'd been that she'd assured him she believed the things he said when he'd been delirious. Loki was used to other's not believing him. Just like she had not, at first, and he'd been mad enough to pay her back in form of nightmares.

She was up before she could think about it twice, running to the medical rooms.

But if she had played a part, how was this connected to his dying now? True, he'd somehow turned into a bleeding mess almost immediately after that, but he'd healed, she'd seen him … It didn't make sense.

What the hell had he done at that time anyway?

She didn't really care if the door slammed at the wall. It did bother her, however, that Loki didn't so much as stir. He was lying under the covers, all corpse-like with blood on his lips, and she had to get close to even see his chest move.

"Tell me!" His hand was so cold under hers. "Is it my fault, too? Loki! Loki, please!"

An involuntary shiver ran down her spine.

"Loki."

Her voice quieted, she slumped into the chair. Swallowed. Her grip on his hand tightened.

"Is this it?"

Why did she feel like she'd run a marathon? So … tired? Like she'd run a marathon and _lost_?

She sat in silence.

He wasn't going to wake up again, was he? She pushed the fact she might have been involved aside. There would be plenty of time to ponder it. But not now. Not yet.

She just sat, breathing softly.

A golden city rose before her, monument to architecture, bathing in the evening sun … suns? Stars? Nebulas clad the sky in a gossamer veil, shades of purple and gold like faint strokes of a skilled artist's brush, home for the brightest stars she'd ever seen. A great hall flashed before her eyes, filled with laughter that kept ringing in her ears even as the scene gave way to empty corridors lit with torches, or the top of a tower, and landscape spread before her like a flower-field in the summer, gold, and green, complete with the grey peeks in the background that gently kissed the never-ending sky, stretching on and on until it met a ceiling, half lost in the darkness, and the smell of books filled her nose, her lungs, her heart, and her ears filled with the rustle of falling water, droplets bouncing off the stones to nestle in her hair like diamonds. Grass swayed as something ran through it, birds sang, a summer breeze caressed her smile, bushes with small purple blossoms obscured her view and a pale pink flower similar to a lily touched her hand, and she'd swear she could smell almonds …

Night closed around her like mother's arms, whispering comforting things, and as she walked she could feel something pulling her, guiding her so her feet would never slip and she'd never lose her way even with her eyes closed, all the while a flame danced in her core because she was close, so close to something she was part of, something magical …

A horse snorted beside her ear, nuzzling against her cheek. She felt sweet longing, and deep, profound sadness that was still so peaceful, hooves tramped against a bridge of colours and light, and then there was more light, still more, until the whole universe opened for her and her alone …

She blinked. What remained were white walls, the blue chair under her, and Loki, still, pale, and unresponsive in bed, his hand just as cold as before. Yet she couldn't truly take in her surroundings. A part of her had remained … somewhere else.

In Asgard.

Whatever Loki had meant to say, she'd been given a piece of magic that was reserved for gods. It wasn't until she felt a hand on her shoulder that she realised the tickling she felt on her cheek was a trail left by a tear.

Her mouth parted just a little so she could bite her lip, but she closed it instead. Her eyes found Loki's face, and she slowly wiped some blood off his lips.

_Can't you ever just talk like a normal person?_

No other thought was willing to take shape in her mind. It wouldn't want to stay the only one.

"Blue Jay?"

How long had Stark, no, they been here? How long had she _not_ been?

"He's going to die."

"What?!"

Rebecca wished she knew how her own face looked like when she turned to Thor. "He's going to die. Soon."

"He is not!" Thor seemed to tower over her even if he was on the other side of the bed. "We cannot be brought down so easily!"

Rebecca couldn't help herself. Next thing she knew, she was on her feet, palms pressed against the bed. Was Thor in denial or blind?!

"And if you went down willingly?! Hell, I don't know what's killing him, but he is dying right under your nose, and you refuse to see it because you're too thick-headed to consider something that does not fit in with your common beliefs! But it's not my responsibility to convince you otherwise. And you know what?" She moved her head a little and hair swept the side of her face, bangs partly covering her left eye. "He does love you."

Lips pressed together, she tore herself away from the bed and strode for the door.

Thor stared at the door that had closed behind the moral with a loud bang. He thought that heavy thing pressing down on his chest was going to suffocate him.

Had Rebecca told the truth? Was Loki really dying?

An eternity must have gone by before he managed to turn his head to gaze at his brother.

He'd thought he'd lost him once, and he couldn't do it again. He couldn't lose Loki, no matter who he'd become, the thought alone inflicted pain on him. That his brother seemed to had opened to that woman more than he was willing to open to Thor, knowing that she was the one with enough information to reach a conclusion not he—it hurt. Badly.

Now that he'd looked at Loki, he couldn't tear his eyes away. His brother's condition indeed seemed to be serious.

"Tell me, doctor, is she telling the truth?"

Banner stopped jumping around and looking at various machines Thor could neither recognise nor name. The god hoped Banner would deny it. But deep inside, he knew better.

"Very likely." There was such a deep frown on the scientist's forehead. "His body functions have started to slow down."

Thor's mouth hung partly opened as he shook his head. "No. No, I won't let my brother die!"

"Easy, big guy," Stark spoke from his place beside the wall. His cocky façade had been lost somewhere along the way down here, the last bits fading when he'd seen Rebecca sitting by the bed, still, and she'd remained so some seconds longer than was normal.

"You know we would help Snow White here if we knew how."

"We shall travel to Asgard. Our healers will know what to do." They had to know. They had to.

"Will they?"

"Aye."

"And if they don't?"

Thor spent a long, long second watching Anthony Stark and the hardened lines of his face. This was a man who knew loss.

"I have to try," he answered silently.

Stark nodded. Banner said nothing. Thor took Loki's hand in his own.

"We will leave right away. You do have the Tesseract?"

"Yes. But I'll miss it terribly. It's a first class toy."

Banner shook his head. "I still can't believe Fury let you have it."

"Hey." Stark pouted as if insulted. "He failed to protect it once, and we managed to beat Loki. Who's the better candidate? Oh, sorry, Pikachu."

Gods may have impossibly long lifespan, but Thor swore he could never understand all the things Man of Iron called him or anyone else.

"Doctor, would you care to remove all these … things from my brother?" Turning to Stark, "Where should we go to depart?"

The billionaire shrugged. "As long as you don't take a part of my tower with you, anywhere's fine."

"Thank you, my friends."

"Right …" Stark's face was still dark. Thor couldn't help but frown.

"Is something else wrong?"

The corner of Stark's mouth twitched into a smirk for a fraction of a moment. "Nothing to worry about. I'll have to talk to Blue Jay, though."

Thor nodded. He didn't wish for any more trouble. Or better, he wasn't sure he could cope with more. This, taking Loki's limp form in his arms and watching him hang there like he was already dead, was hard enough. He felt powerless once again. Loki had been right; all the great power Thor had couldn't help him protect what he loved most.

His family had fallen apart. Loki was no longer the Loki he used to know.

"They'll fix you, brother," he whispered. "I promise."

But no words, no matter how sincere or how from the heart, could chase away the sense of foreboding.

* * *

A/N: Bad news: my finals start this week... Which means more studying and less fanfiction time...

By the way, if anyone's interested in frostiron, go check my story, yes?

Love you all! Please, drop a review.


	24. Chapter 24: Running Out

**Chapter XXIV–Running Out**

_As an unperfect actor on the stage,_

_Who with his play is put beside his part,_

_Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,_

_Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart_

_~Shakespeare, Sonnet XXIII_

Thor wished he could have bid Jane farewell as he had no way of knowing when he'd see her again. Or anyone else. As much as he loved Midgard, Asgard was still where he belonged, where his duty lay, where he would one day reign undoubtedly. But, he missed his parents. He missed his friends. He was not going to miss Loki again.

His feet touched the stony floor in a flash of blue light. He heard voices rise and then stop abruptly. And he stood, silently, motionlessly, in his father's chambers, looking at his parents, who'd frozen mid motion and were staring back. Silence was palpable around them. Then, slowly, Frigga's eyes slid lower, to Loki, who felt too heavy in Thor's arms, and they widened, yet nobody made a single sound.

Odin's eyes travelled back and forth between his sons. Thor looked now at Frigga, now at him. Tension was squeezing his chest, and he tried to swallow the knot in his throat, but in vain.

It was the queen who broke the spell. Her dress rustled as she hurried forwards.

"You have returned!"

She gave Thor an awkward smack on the cheek, and the latter was sure Loki's limp form was the only thing that had saved him from having the life squeezed right out of him by her arms. And that was good; this was no happy affair.

"Mother," he acknowledged and then looked to Odin. "Father. Loki is dying."

He saw pain on both faces, Frigga's as evident as if she were the one dealt a fatal blow, Odin's deep and buried somewhere behind his piercing blue eye.

"What has happened?"

The lower half of his mother's face was hidden behind her hands. Thor wished he knew. Anything would be better than the helplessness ignorance inspired in him. But, he could only shake his head.

"I do not know. Midgardian doctors could not help him. He needs our healers, now."

At first, nobody moved, and for a moment Thor's heart was forced to a stop by a sudden fear that Loki would be sentenced to death, anyway, so why bother saving him now, or that they would question him first and then decide whether the Trickster was worthy of help at all. But, none of that happened. Instead, Odin strode forward, took Loki out of Thor's arms, and headed for the doors with determined steps. It took Thor a moment to recover from surprise, so that he could follow. A spark of hope warmed his heart; he'd always claimed Odin loved Loki, but actually seeing the Allfather still cared for his son after all that had transpired, chased away those dark doubts he'd been tortured by nonetheless.

Thor walked at his mother's side. Never had the healing rooms seemed so far away. He hardly noticed people step aside and stare after them, shocked, surprised, frowning. They were seeing a dead prince after all. The amount of relief Thor felt when he couldn't find hatred on their faces was immeasurable. If it only meant Odin hadn't revealed Loki's misdeeds, then so be it.

The way healers froze as the royal family entered was horribly like the king and the queen had done, and it surprised nobody that Eir stepped forward. It took her exactly one look to assess the situation. Her professional mode was already on.

"Put him on the bed," she commanded in her usual non-nonsense way, skipping the address. This was her territory, her kingdom to lead, and in these special chambers gods bowed to her will.

"What is wrong?"

"I don't know," said Thor. "My brother has fallen ill. He had fever and was coughing blood. That is all I can tell."

The darkening of Eir's face showed her displeasure, but she didn't comment. "We will take care of him," she assured. Was she surprised to see Loki at all? Her professionalism reminded Thor of the Son of Coul, and he wished the man were alive.

Frigga's hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Come," she said softly. "Let them work."

"You have much to tell," added Odin.

Thor nodded gravely.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

There was a flash of blue light, and then they were gone like they'd never existed at all. Tony exchanged looks with Bruce.

"Ironic, huh?" said the latter. "That Asgard is the only place where Loki can be saved and the place of his trial at the same time."

Tony nodded. They headed back towards the penthouse. "You really don't know what's wrong with him?"

"Not yet. Give me time, and I'm sure I'll figure it out."

"The labs are all yours. Well, no, I'll join you. But I want to find Whispers first."

The doors to the penthouse slid open, and they entered.

"What's with the nickname?"

"I don't know. Loki said that to her. Jarvis, where is our dear visitor?"

"Outside, sir."

"Ask her to come in."

He strode towards the bar, but this time it was water he poured himself. With a gesture, he offered it to Bruce, too. The scientist shook his head.

"Ms Reed refused to come inside, sir."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Tell her … Never mind. Remember the donuts!" he yelled, loud enough she surely heard.

"And if I don't?" Her head appeared at the door. "So what."

"Killjoy. Come here."

Rebecca scowled. "Why?"

"Please don't be immature," spoke Bruce. "Having Tony act like a child is hard enough."

"Hey!"

But, it brought a small smile on her face, and she reluctantly crossed the room. Tony decided it was better to break the news to her without stalling. He didn't wait until she was seated.

"Thor took Loki to Asgard."

She gave him one of those stares.

"Yeah, Thor can be a little slow, but he's not stupid. He came to the conclusion you were right, and since we couldn't do anything for Loki, they left."

"To Asgard?"

"Yes."

She nodded, looking at her fingers resting on the counter.

"You knew he was dying," Tony deadpanned.

"I had my suspicions."

"And you didn't mention it because …?"

She looked up, pushing brown strands out of her eyes. "I wasn't sure, not till doctor Banner told us the thing about his fever." She nibbled on her lip.

"You'll make a hole in your lip one day."

She shrugged. "Yeah, probably."

"Okaaay, so you're in a bad mood. Eat a donut or something?"

Smirking, she gave him an incredulous look. Was that a way of saying he got points for trying? He slipped off the stool to grab the box of donuts from the table where they'd left it when he heard Bruce ask, "You truly don't know what's killing Loki?" and another question formed in his mind.

"No," replied Rebecca a little before Tony placed the bow in front of her.

"How about that; why didn't you tell us after you became sure?"

Ah, sore spot.

She didn't look at him. Instead her fingers wrapped around a chocolate donut. Tony noticed the last remains of clear nail polish on her forefinger. She took a small bite.

"Whispers?"

Rebecca sighed. "Loki knew."

"Loki knew what?"

"That he was dying." She finally lifted her gaze. Something intense filled her eyes. "And of what."

"Yes?" Tony prompted.

"He didn't tell me. But he did say something about people always interfering and about knowing what he was doing …" She took a quick breath. "What I think is—that was the plan. He wanted to die."

Well, that was news. Then again, Tony knew the god was not completely stable. Hell, he himself was not completely stable, but he was doing a lot better now than he used to. At least his suicide attempts had always stopped at the stage of thinking of it and deciding he would probably like to kiss Pepper again. And then he'd pushed the thoughts away. It had been the easiest when the sky was clear. Or when morning came; his lowest point had always been the terrible moment when the line between nightmares and wakefulness was still blurred and the pain still too real.

"You mean wants?" Rebecca had Bruce's full attention now.

"Dunno. He never said that. Only stuff like he knew what he'd been doing and what he'd wanted. It was all it past tense, actually …"She touched her chin with the tip of her thumb. "Also … I haven't figured it out yet, but I think that bloody stunt he pulled off 's somehow connected to it …"

Tony shook his head. "And I thought the Reindeer affair would be over the moment he left Earth. Figures. I knew there was a reason I shouldn't get involved with the Avengers."

"At least they asked you." Bruce. Right. Tony's mouth worked too fast. Would it be possible to invent a brain-to-mouth filter that would actually work?

"Don't worry, Shrek, SHIELD won't bug you anymore. They don't have one credit card for every day in a month. I do."

"Seriously, Stark?"

"No. But it gets the point across."

Rebecca sighed exaggeratedly. She stuffed the last part of the donut into her mouth, chewed silently, and swallowed. She slipped off the stool. "Well then. Thank you for letting me stay, and if you would be so kind as to have that interview with me tomorrow?"

Wait, what?

"You're leaving already?"

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "What is there to do? Loki is gone, end of the story. I doubt anyone here feels like having a movie night right now."

He hadn't been expecting that. Actually, he hadn't really been thinking about what would follow. Typical. True, he hadn't thought they'd sit and chat until darkness fell, but somehow watching Rebecca go wasn't what he'd opt for. Maybe. He didn't even know why staring at her back while she walked away didn't sit well with him. Perhaps because his gut was screaming that this wasn't finished yet, although he couldn't see how it wasn't? Well, Thor would probably return to inform them about Loki's fate, but other than that …

"Right … I'll let you out then?"

"'s okay. I know where the doors are."

He didn't know why he spoke up just before she disappeared. Perhaps the way her shoulders were sagged was too sad. Perhaps he couldn't forget that angry looking scar on her back. Perhaps he remembered he'd been introduced to compassion somewhere along the way of his life.

"Hey, Loki might still be all right!"  
For the shortest of moments, she halted, but she didn't turn around. She didn't even look at him.

"It doesn't matter, Stark. It doesn't matter."

For once in his life, Tony Stark was rendered speechless.

"So." Bruce finally broke the silence. "Who will tell Fury?"

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Thor didn't need to look at his parents to know what sadness he would find there. He hadn't been talking for a long time, in fact, he'd tried to make the story as short as possible, but it had been enough. He'd seen Odin's attempt to be angry and Frigga's not to show her feelings too much, but they'd both failed; anger and punishments could wait for when Loki's life was not on the line. For now, they silently sat together, close like a real family should, because there were no prying eyes to force them into formalities, yet they were not a family, not without the second son, and Thor began to wonder if Loki truly didn't see it the same way, not because it was convenient not to or because he wanted to cause trouble, but because he truly couldn't feel that bond that still tied them. Hatred and anger Thor could deal with, but what if he'd really failed to make Loki feel like he belonged?

A knock on the door pulled Thor out of his thoughts. He looked at his father, who gave permission to enter with a single word, and then at his friends, Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, as they put their fists over their hearts and bowed.

"We have heard of your return," said Sif, her voice even and sure, and Thor could see she was glad what they'd heard was true, and he hurried towards them, spreading his arms.

"My friends!" He was glad, too. "It is wonderful to see you again! Father, I would go with them."

Odin nodded just like Thor'd thought he would.

"We'll send for you," Frigga promised softly. Thor nodded once. He and his group headed to what mortals would call a longue room.

"How was Midgard?" asked Volstagg.

"It was not an experience I ever wish to repeat."

"Did you beat Loki?" Sif.

Thor sighed heavily. "Aye. But things have ended badly. My brother has fallen ill, and now his life is in danger."

"Well." Sif crossed her legs and pushed her hair back. "He would deserve to die."

Thor was on his feet faster than they could blink. A sudden rage filled his chest, burned inside him, stronger than he could remember feeling directed at his friends. "You will never speak of him that way again!" he roared. "Loki may be a different person, but he will always be my brother no matter what happens! Is that clear?"

He looked around the room, fire raging on his face, to see downcast eyes and receive murmured affirmations.

"Your patience with him is infinite," added Fandral under his breath.

"Nay. My brother has done wrong, and he deserves to be punished accordingly. But I won't let him die if there is anything I can do to stop it."

"You …" They all turned to Volstagg. "Didn't happen to bring some of those tarts that pop with you?"

It might have earned Volstagg collective eye-rolling, but Thor had to admit the comment wiped some of the tension away.

"No. I did not think of that. Sorry, my friend. But I am sure the Bifrost will be repaired eventually, so we can all travel to Midgard, then."

"How are ladies there? Did you see your woman?"

"Her name is Jane. We had a lovely time together. And all the other ladies I've met are fierce."

"Warriors?" Sif raised her eyebrows. She liked a good challenge, but to have competition among her own sex …

"Nay. Not like you. But they are a force to reckon with. Lady Potts, for example, is most—"

The doors flew open. Thor's posture stiffened instantly, reflexes sharpened in expectation of battle, but it was only a panting guard with his head bowed.

"The queen requests your presence, my prince," he tried to say steadily but failed due to the amount of oxygen he was fighting to get in his lungs. "Immediately. She said it was urgent."

The Thunderer didn't need to be told twice. He all but flew out, rushing down the hall, just slow enough for the guard to catch him and direct him to the healing chambers. Thor barely paid him any heed. There had to be news of Loki, and fear squeezed his chest, tighter and tighter, until he could only wonder how he managed to breathe in at all. He couldn't remember being afraid to that extent. The mighty Thor reduced a scared child. He cared for Loki too much. And he shouldn't, because Loki would use it against him, again, and again, and again, and he could not afford any more mistakes.

Pushing the doors open with enough force to slam them against the walls earned him disapproving glances from the two healers nearby, but he couldn't care less. One of them pointed him to the rooms in the back. Thor crossed the distance with loud steps, entered, and froze.

Loki lay on a bed, white as the sheets and surrounded by Frigga, Odin, Eir, and three other healers. His brow was covered with sweat as was the Allfathers. The latter was holding both of his son's hands, eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration. It went on for a couple more moments before Odin let go. He wiped his forehead with his hand.

"Father? What is going on?"

Faces turned towards Thor, then towards Odin, who sighed.

"Loki has been poisoned. It is an odd poison."

"And?" Why were they stalling? Why didn't anyone smile at him and tell him not to worry, that, of course, Loki would live?

"They've began healing him," said Frigga softly, a contrast to Thor's booming voice. "His cells need to be regenerated, and right now his body is too weak to do this on its own."

"And?" Thor clenched and unclenched his fists to release some panic.

"The worst has been healed. But the moment Loki was strong enough, he began to resist."

"As in … he does not … want to be healed?" His voice broke a little.

"No," said Odin, "it is different. It's a subconscious action that would be very useful if he were in danger, but as it is, it is only causing harm. He is fighting against letting any magic enter him or affect him, and his walls are surprisingly strong. If I don't breach them, it is very likely he will still die. But if I continue trying, he might as well die from the strain of holding them in place. In other words, Loki has to lower the defences himself."

"Or he will die," added Thor, suddenly feeling hollow. "Have you tried breaking the walls? Talking to him? Is there no medicine he could drink and—"

Frigga squeezed his shoulder. "We've tried."

"But surely father can break—"

"It is complicated, Thor." Odin shook his head. "I could break Loki's walls. He is too weak to maintain them for a longer period of time, but I am sure by the time he would be forced to give up the strain would have done the damage already."

"I understand. But can't you … break them quickly?"

Odin shook his head and Frigga gave Thor a small smile. "Loki is a very strong sorcerer."

Thor nodded. Defeat made him feel weak. He suddenly felt the urge to sit down before his legs betrayed him and settled for a spot beside Loki's waist.

"Why is he even fighting?" he uttered. "He didn't do that before, did he?"

"We haven't really seen him here much," said Eir apologetically, as if she was afraid she'd get blamed for it. She'd spoken true, of course; Loki had always preferred to treat his injuries himself.

"Brother." Thor looked at his face and took his hand. "You have to let us help you. Please. Loki, please. What happened to you?" He noticed Odin grip Loki's other hand. "Brother, I love you. I care not what you've done, please let us heal you."

Loki's face contorted, a pained moan escaped his lips, and Odin quickly withdrew his hand. Thor did the same, looking at his father, who slightly shook his head.

Despair threatened to pull him under the surface. There had to be something they could do …

Perhaps …

"Father."

"What is it?"

Thor hesitated. Maybe it was a bad idea, but it was the only one he had. "There is … a mortal …"

"Thor, darling, I know you love Jane, but this is not the time for that."

"No, mother, it is not Jane I speak about. There is a woman who helped Loki … He tolerated her. And …"

Interest sparked in his parents' eyes.

"It seems he … let her in to a certain degree. He refused to talk to me save for arguing, but he had to have spoken to her. She was the first to suggest he was dying. I though Loki might let his shields down in her presence …"

The royal couple exchanged a look.

"It can't hurt to try, dear."

"She already knows about Asgard," added Thor.

Odin kept still for a few heartbeats. Then he nodded once.

"Bring her here."

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Rebecca trembled. She was standing in front of the mirror in her bedroom, wishing she could run away, but her legs wouldn't move. It was time to see.

Reluctantly, she pulled her T-shirt over her head, which left her in a plain black bra and jeans. Her hair tumbled on her shoulders. One more inhale, and she slowly turned.

A gasp escaped her lips. The scar was an ugly, jagged thing, but that she'd known already. What she hadn't been expecting, though, were specks of black haphazardly spreading over the white line. And either her mind was betraying her, or there was another black spot appearing right before her eyes.

She screwed them shut.

* * *

A/N: I know Odin is all strong and allmighty, but I imagine Loki ould be a very string mage as well, and somebody circumstanes have forced to become even stronger.

I'm still dealing with finals, so no idea when the next update will be up.

Thank you for reviews, and please, drop one this time, too. I swear I don't bite. And, I'll reply, promised.


	25. Chapter 25: The Sky Is Over

A/N: Sorry. Finals. Just... sorry. And I'm going on holidays, which means no computer for me. So sorry.

The title is taken from a song by Serj Tankian called Sky Is Over.

Part II: Kingdom of Heaven-Burning the Past

* * *

**Chapter XXV–The Sky Is Over  
**

"The Allfather demands your presence. Make yourself presentable, you can't go in such disarray."

"The _who_ demands _what_?!"

Rebecca rebelliously crossed her arms. Who the hell did blodny think he was to show at her doorstep at one in the morning and have the gall to frown at her dishevelled hair and hot pants and a too big sweatshirt she wore to sleep?

"My father," said Thor slowly, as if that was the only way she would be able to understand. "He demanded I bring you to him."

She snorted. Being awakened after she'd just managed to fall asleep after two full hours of tossing and turning was nowhere near the list of the things she appreciated. "Go to Hell."

"She wouldn't be pleased to see me."

"Yeah, well, go there anyway. Hi, Stark." She nodded at the man behind Thor's shoulder before grabbing the doorknob. "Have a nice night."

She tried to swing the doors closed, but Thor prevented it.

"We need you, Rebecca, you cannot turn your back on us and walk away."

"Sure I can." And she was more than willing to. Having spent the whole evening reading Norse mythology, she was finding it hard not to feel any more resentful than she already was; she did not want to be biased without a proof. But if the stories were in fact true … Then she could only admire Loki for actually still caring for his family. "Odin might be the king of Asgard, but he's no king of mine, so why the hell would I wanna help him solve whatever mess he's in?"

"Whispers," Stark spoke and took a breath to continue, but she cut him short,

"Don't call me that."

"And Loki can."

"He doesn't call me that."

"He did."

"No, he didn't." She pouted. "He said I sounded like whispers."

"Which makes so much more sense."

"I _so_ don't care! Either you two tell me what you're doing here in the middle of the night, or you turn and walk home."

"Jee, Whispers—"

"Stark, you call me that once more and I promise—"

"It's about Loki."

Her pose changed from aggressive to self-conscious. She'd tried to convince herself it mattered absolutely nothing whether Loki was still alive or not, but really she was dying to know. That, and the thought of Loki being dead made her feel like there was a big, heavy cloud above her head and something cold in her stomach.

She swallowed.

"What about … Loki?" She looked from Stark to Thor and back again, but it was the Thunderer who answered.

"His life is still in danger."

"Oh. And what's … Where do I come in?"

"Blue Jay, would you let us in? Nothing against the corridor, it's very … lovely, but I think we might want some privacy."

"Yeah … Yeah, sure." She backed away from the door. "Sorry. I'm just … I just managed to fall asleep and then you woke me up. 'm in a bad mood, I guess. Um, sit down somewhere."

The sofa bed was still unfolded, so the two visitors settled on the loveseat and the small armchair. Rebecca flopped down on the wrinkled blankets Loki had been covered with and wrapped one around her shoulders.

"Okay. Why don't we start at the beginning again? Asgard ninja?"

She didn't think Stark was used to playing the mediator, but for now it was actually working. Or maybe her worry for Loki was stronger than her annoyance with Thor.

"Really Stark? Asgard ninja?"

The billionaire shrugged. "He appeared from out of nowhere."

"Whatever. So, the Alldaddy?"

Thor frowned. "Disrespectful is not something I would advise you to be."

And she would not advise him to hold somebody down so that his mouth could be sewn shut. That kind of made them even.

"I'll keep that in mind." Didn't mean she'd act on it, though. "What's with Loki?"

"My brother has been poisoned." Thor sighed gravely before he proceeded to explain the situation. Rebecca's expression darkened as he talked, thoughts flashing through her mind while she was trying to connect the pieces. If poison was involved, it could make sense for Loki to suffer the effect some three weeks after the actual poisoning, so his bloody stunt could in fact have been the occasion that had eventually led to his current state. It still didn't explain what had happened, but it was something.

Maybe Thor didn't understand Loki's need to fight intruders, but she liked to think she could. Somewhat. Whatever had happened had forced him to learn not to let his guard down with potential danger in sight. Okay, made sense.

But …

"Why me?"

"Because you managed to get through my brother before. He trusts you."

"Um, no. No, he doesn't. He has no reason to." After all, she'd betrayed the trust he'd been willing to give her.

But Thor wouldn't have it. "Of course he does. Why else would he have told you he still loved me?"

"Um …" She twisted her lip for a moment. "He didn't exactly say that … But, um, if you read between the lines …" Hell, she couldn't tell him how desperately Loki had called for Thor in his delirium, begged with the desperation she didn't think she'd ever felt.

"Yes, yes, trust, no trust, Blue Jay, you have some weird truce with him, go and help before Thor decides to either drown us in his tears or rearrange by inner organs in rage, yes?"

Rebecca levelled him with a glare, blowing a strand of hair off her face. "Fine." She'd go. Not for Odin or Asgard or even Stark. For Loki. "And what would the mighty Allfather deem presentable?"

Stark grabbed her wrist and pulled her aside before Thor could even inhale to answer.

"I haven't seen you this troublesome before. What's up?"

Rebecca pouted, a retort ready on the tip of her tongue. But there was no trace of mockery on Stark's face, and she only wriggled her hand free.

"Their society is fucked up."

"Ah, that. Yeah, I know. I had Jarvis do the research, and if half of the stuff is true, well … Still, what was with the hesitation?"

She narrowed her eyes. "What about it? It's their shit." Her voice lacked aggressiveness, though, giving in, her irritation slowly evaporating. She sighed. "Look, I dunno if I should try to save Loki."

Star'ks eyes flitted to Thor, who was doing his best to appear nonchalant, although they way he kept shifting his weight ruined it completely, then back.

"Don't you want him to live?"

"Most don't."

Stark scratched the back of his neck."Blue Jay, you are evil. I hat being forced in this moral-supportive-speeches thing. I suck at it. You'll bake me muffins for that."

A flicker of entertainment lit her eyes.

"So. I asked about you, not the entire human population."

And just like that, the entertainment died. What did her opinion matter; this wasn't about her. Remembering the load of pained emotions she'd got to taste wasn't easy. Did she wish to never have experienced it? Hell yes. Did she want to forget them _now_?

"It's about what Loki wants," she muttered. Stark dragged a hand over his face.

"You know, there are more effective ways to kill oneself than waiting for weeks for poison to do its thing. That was worth another portion of muffins."

"Stark."

"Fine, half a portion."

"Stark."

"What now, I didn't—"

"Would you move away from the door? I gotta change, remember?"

_~*oO*o*Oo*~_

Travelling with the Tesseract was nothing she could ever forget. The gentle hum of energy drumming in her veins just before it began and blue light blurred her vision, and then a pull, a force that seemed to force her out of her body, carrying her with the speed of light or possibly faster. Colours swirled all around her, hues of blue so exquisite she couldn't tell them apart from the twirling pattern they kept dancing in, something that could have been wind were she on Earth pressed against her skin, but there was no sound at all.

Ground blossomed under her feet faster than she'd been expecting. The contact threw her of balance, and her body felt too much like jelly to even try to remain standing. Instead, she tumbled on her knees, struggling to at least catch her breath if nothing else. This … She'd seen something akin to it before, only with more colours and less twirling

Thor stood beside her, perfectly in control of his body.

"We have returned," boomed his voice even as Rebecca felt to strong hands close around her biceps and pull her to her feet. She finally took a look at her surroundings. Her first impression could be summed up in one single word: golden. The room itself wasn't too big. Fire burned in the square in the middle of the floor, strange golden seats facing it. Intriguing carvings lined the walls, the biggest one of an enormous tree. But all this faded when her eyes landed on the two other persons present, a man with shoulder-length white hair and a golden eye patch, clad in gold and black whose shoulders were even broader than Thor's, and a woman, beautiful despite not being the youngest anymore though her exact age would be impossible to tell.

Rebecca swallowed. She'd seen the man before. She knew who they were. Waiting for resentment to rise inside her, she took a deep breath, but it never came. The couple was too awe-inspiring, radiated too much power, and something in the way that one eye looked straight at her reminded her on Loki way too much.

"Your majesties," she forced through her lips, bowing her head. "Allfather."

Eyes cast to the floor, she didn't see the small smile that crept onto the queen's face.

"Father, I have brought Lady Rebecca.

"Yes. Raise your head, child."

She could only comply. Her gaze met the Allfather's one. Suddenly she saw him sitting on the throne again and wondered more than ever why Loki had slipped that image between the illusions of horror. Not that asking Odin was an option.

"Welcome to Asgard."

"Thank ... you. Look, I can, I can try, but I really don't know if this'll work, so please don't blame me if it doesn't, 'cause I really have no idea about—"

"Rebecca." Frigga's voice was gentle and kind. How could anyone sound so soothing? This woman must have been meant for putting children to sleep, not like Rebecca … "We won't blame you, do not fret. All we ask is that you try."

She nodded, not willing to trust her vocal chords. Frigga rose. She swept to where Rebecca stood, gently touching her shoulder. The journalist twisted the inside of her lip between her teeth. All this kindness had an air of bone-deep sadness enveloping it, of exhaustion hidden in faint lines on the family's faces, and that somebody so powerful had come to the point where they needed _her_ filled her with dread she couldn't explain.

Frigga led her through the door and down the corridor, and Rebecca's breath caught. The passageways were exactly like the ones she'd seen, soft firelight illuminating the place, shadows ghosting over the walls.

A knot tightened in her throat.

Loki had shown her this. Had he wanted her to come here? Had he known he was going to be brought home?

"Rebecca?" Thor asked somewhere behind her ear.

She shook her head. "It's nothing."

A lie.

But if she knew it to be a lie, then at least she couldn't lie to herself.

They entered through an ornate double door, and Rebecca could swear she'd never felt more self-conscious than now, with half a dozen women, all clad in elegant dresses, stared at her and her attire—black jeans, green T-shit, a silver bracelet with small keys hanging from, and suddenly she understood why Thor had glanced at her so startled after she'd emerged from her room. Those were Loki's colours she was wearing. Unintentionally. She only hoped everybody would be too busy with the oddity of the style to give the colours a second look.

Not a word was said. She was with the royal family, and those were the one residents of Asgard one did not question. Thor nudged her shoulder, directing her towards the back of the spacious creamy place filled with beds, doors, and cabinets. A much smaller room opened in front of her, containing a single bed, four chairs, and a table upon which a bowl was placed. The details went ignored. All of Rebecca's attention was reserved for Loki.

He could hardly say he looked worse than the last time she'd seen him. There was a bit more sweat covering his brow, and his shoulders were bare. Soft sheets were wrapped around his slightly trembling body.

"I take it Thor has explained the situation to you," Odin said.

Rebecca nodded. "But I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Make him lower his walls."

Yeah, she'd heard that before. Did they all think she knew how to do that?

A hand touching her shoulder nearly made her jump. Frigga's voice was soothing, though. "Talk to him."

"And what … What should I say?"

"It does not matter. We only need Loki to relax, so Odin can plunge into his cells with magic."

Rebecca nodded. Okay. Okay, she could do that. Talking wasn't so hard.

Yet her body felt stiff as she moved to the bed and awkwardly sat down on the edge.

"Hey," she muttered and gazed at Frigga, who nodded encouragingly, then back at Loki's pale face. "I … Um … Dunno if you can hear me, but …" She sighed, looking up again. "This isn't working. I really don't know what to say, I'm sorry."

"What would you say to Loki if he were awake?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"Thor and I can leave if you wish. Just remember, you are talking to my son, not at him."

"Thank you." Rebecca tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I appreciate this, your majesty." Especially knowing Thor had to be dragged away.

When the door closed, she took a deep breath in a half-hearted attempt to steady herself. Her fingers slowly slid under Loki's hand, thumb caressing the back of his palm. It brought a memory back; how she'd done the same thing for the first time, Loki's troubled sleep …

"Hey, Lokes," she murmured. "I didn't think I'd see Asgard for real. Not that I've seen much so far, but I'm here, and this is … this is all just crazy. It's fine, though. Everything'll be fine, okay?" Her other hand sneaked up to his face to push a stray black strand off his forehead. "You're safe here." Her voice was barely a whisper. "You can let them help you. I mean, I'm not … 's your choice. I'm sorry if you didn't want me to tell Thor. And I'm sorry I didn't believe you. I really, really am. You should have … I … That was … I didn't know anything back then, and nobody wanted to tell me, so I googled stuff, and … There's some pretty nasty legends, you know? And God, I hope they're not true, 'cause that would be really sick, even Stark said that. Not that you'd care about Stark … But you …

"What happened to you? I know I wasn't supposed to hear all those things, but I did and I can't—hell, do you even know everything you said?"

Something strong gripped her chest.

"You probably won't explain anything even if you do, right?" She tried to smirk. "No, of course you won't. I just hope you'll survive, you know. I do owe you …" Or maybe it was he who owed her, she'd lost count, and had they began marking their debts at the same time anyway? Did Loki know he'd accidently saved her life, that he'd began the chain? "And I will listen if you'll want me to, okay? I will—"

Loki's whole body jerked. Rebecca twitched, pulling her hand away from his face.

"Keep talking," Odin ordered. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and so was Loki's now, though from what was hard to tell. Hoping it wasn't pain, Rebecca tightened her grip.

"Shh," she whispered. "It'll be okay. You'll be fine. You don't have to fight anymore, 's over. Go back to being your stubborn, cranky self later, just rest now, 'kay?" She was running out of things to say, and so she settled for stroking the back of his hand while whispering it would be all right, apologizing from time to time, and promising he was safe. If he remembered anything later, he'd probably accuse her of lying, but she could live with that. His life on her conscience—not so much.

"Well done, child."

She gazed at the king, a relieved breath escaping her lips. "Did it work?"

A solemn nod. "It appears so. You are dismissed now. There will be somebody to escort you to your rooms."

She was staying in Asgard? Was Loki's life in danger still?

Reluctantly, she stood up. "Will Loki live?"

That piercing blue gaze was accompanied by a long, heavy silence. "Very likely."

Hating the lack of explanation but knowing it wasn't her place to inquire further, she bowed her head on instinct and left the room. All eyes were immediately on her again. Her first instinct was to make herself as small as possible as if that could hide her from the questioning gazes. Instead, she squared her shoulders. She'd seen Loki stand among his captors proudly; she could deal with curiosity. With what she hoped was determination, her gaze met the closest pair of eyes, blue, and belonging to a petite blond woman, dressed differently than the rest. She was not a healer.

"Lady Rebecca," the latter spoke half a moment later. "If you would follow me."

The journalist only nodded. Odd, to be addressed in such a way. there was a familiar curiosity in these women, and Rebecca could practically hear gossip forming on their lips already, yet there was also respect, and in that moment she was truly aware Thor was a prince, and his father was the king, and she'd come here with them. She'd met a real royal family. She'd talked to them, touched them. hell, she'd had a prince on her sofa!

The woman led her in silence. Was she afraid to ask? Forbidden to ask? Rebecca knew the workings of a monarchy in theory, but was it the same in praxis, who stood where, and what exactly did that mean?

After many corridors and a couple of halls, lots of glances and some whispers, they stopped in front of a door made of dark, polished wood.

"Your rooms."

She pushed the door open to be met with a sight of an enormous bedroom in creamy colours, with a king-size canopy-bed covered by silky silver sheets. Windows ran along the top of a whole wall in a continuous line, allowing soft light to caress the stony floor. The furniture was made of the same dark wood as the door (Rebecca really wished to know what tree it came from). Fire crackled in the fireplace. Three doors led out of the room, one of them opened wide. Behind it was a balcony, and behind that …

Rebecca sucked in a breath. The sky, bathed in purple and pink, stretched out as far as she could see, littered with specks of gold and clad in nebulas like a shy virgin, teasingly caressing white peaks of heaven-reaching mountains, serving as an extension of the glorious city beneath it, a creation that would put every earthly architect to shame and render art historians speechless.

"A bath has been prepared for you, and you will find clothes in the wardrobe. Food should be brought here soon. Is there anything else you wish? Lady …?"

"Rebecca," she added absent-mindedly, feeling her throat closing up and legs moving towards the balcony. The view was beautiful, but it wasn't just that. Loki had shown it to her. Loki. Whatever the reason. Whatever it meant. She'd seen it before, so maybe it wasn't so bad that the image got blurred by her tears this time.

* * *

A/N: Please review ;)

~shades


	26. Chapter 26: Purifued Through These Flame

A/N: Sorry guys, I was on holidays with no computer available... Also, I spet some time writing an Avengers oneshot for SSfrostiron's contest. It's called A Different Kind of War, and it's sort of frostiron. Feel free to check it out (and maybe vote for it?).

The tittle for this chapter is taken from Superchick—Beauty from Pain. You can listen to it if you want.

* * *

**Chapter XXVI–Purified Through These Flames  
**

_Relationships don't always make sense. Especially from the outside.  
~ __Sarah Dessen__: __Along for the Ride  
_

Warm water soothed and comforted.

The bathroom was just as luxurious as the bedroom. The bath was actually a small pool in the ground. The water smelled of a collection of ethereal oils, and damn, there were gentle underwater currents! Nevertheless, Rebecca's skin had had enough of it, by now. The woman slowly rose from the bath, water cascading off her skin. Her soles left wet spots on the cold marble floor. The towel she wrapped her hair in was just as soft as the one she used to dry herself. She slipped into a silky, creamy-coloured bathrobe, and tied the sash loosely. The floor was cold beneath her soles.

She was about to put on her clothes again, but, catching sight of a looking glass, she changed her mind. Her reflection was so familiar, dully staring back at her. So much for not recognising herself. Maybe the corners of her mouth hung downwards, but they had done so well before the New York siege. Her hair had needed to be coloured before, as well (although it was urgent now; she would not walk around half blonde), and this wasn't the first time bags had appeared under her eyes.

On the inside, she was not the same. But, didn't people keep changing all their lives? The only thing really different about her was hidden under her robe. Rebecca breathed in and slowly, slowly exhaled. Letting the fabric slip off her shoulders, she turned, begging for a nanosecond it had all been an illusion and her back would be as smooth as ever.

What met her eyes was an almost completely black, uneven line. Was the colour the result of magic healing?

Tentatively, she brushed a finger over it, then pulled her hand away. However strange it made her feel, this was a part of her body, now, a part of her, along with the fear of lightning, Loki's emotional baggage, and a fascination (a _barely-there_ fascination) with green eyes.

The muscles in her neck were beginning to ache, but she only strained them more and began exploring the blackened skin with her fingertips anew. Should it be so sensitive? Weren't scars supposed to be _in_sensitive? Maybe it was an exception. After all, it wasn't exactly normal…

A soft click—the sound of the door opening—made her start, and her arms flew up to cover her chest even as her back slammed against the cold surface of the mirror. A gasp escaped her parted lips. Her eyes shot to the entrance only to widen at the sight of none other than the king. Opening her mouth did little to help her with words she couldn't come up with.

In the end, she didn't have to.

"It appears you need a moment of privacy," Odin said, his eye strictly on her face, for which she was far more grateful than she would usually admit. "I apologise."

"I… Um…" It felt so out of place, hearing an apology from the Allfather, and words eluded her still. Odin turned around, though, ensuring her a degree of privacy. At the same time, his gesture reminded her that kings were not to be left waiting. Rebecca quickly pulled the robe back into place.

"I'm... fine now," she muttered, although she supposed one never felt covered enough under Odin's piercing gaze, even when his expression didn't seem particularly fear-inspiring. His presence was just... powerful. There was something in the way his eye narrowed, as if he was studying her.

"I have seen many a thing in my life," he said slowly. "Yet, you still seem to be an intrigue."

Rebecca blinked. This man, this _god_, old as the world itself, wise, and—rumour had it—all-seeing, was calling her intriguing? Even if rumours were just rumours…

"'Bout that… I don't think I am. I mean, I'm just a"—she swallowed; it was hard to force the word past her lips—"mortal."

"Perhaps. But, my son—you would call him an intrigue, would you not?"

He was speaking of Loki, right? Rebecca's heart leapt a little, but she hardly noticed. Odin calling Loki his son, that seemed good.

Slowly, not knowing what he was aiming at, she nodded. Odin did the same.

"Even I cannot read him. Not thoroughly. But, I dare claim it is not his usual way to let things stray from their course when it is him who set the course. He went to Midgard to conquer, to sow war. Yet, here you are, the only one able to make him lower his defences."

Rebecca shrugged. Thoughts were flitting in and out of her head too fast to grasp. There were too many, a flood of flashes, emotions she couldn't define, or control, or even hold on to a single thread long enough for it to thoroughly sink in.

"Maybe 'cause I'm a mortal," she suggested. "I'm the only one who presents no threat. So, he doesn't need his defences up around me."

"This is reason speaking, and, as a king, I am bound to agree with you. But as a father who has lost his son, I can allow myself to hope Loki has found a person he can trust, even if only a bit."

"Oh. I, um, I wouldn't... say so. I mean, I wouldn't know."

What she had with Loki, that weird sort of half-relationship—it evaded all categorisation. Perhaps, that was why she'd never thought about it. But trust? She'd misused his trust, and did she trust him? She didn't fear Loki as she knew many would. It seemed there was something like a mutual agreement between them; they'd been bound, first by debt, and then by… by…

Debt, still?

"Perhaps," Odin said again. All this time, his eye hadn't left her; he still seemed to be searching for something. Was there something wrong with the way she looked? Of course, she wasn't dressed oh so properly, but he could hardly blame her, seeing as it was he who'd barged in on her.

"I would ask you to walk with me," Odin went on. "But, perhaps now is not the time. You are free to move around, should you want to, but I advise you not to go alone."

"Thank you."

"No mortal has set foot in Asgard for a very long time."

Was she supposed to feel privileged? Not that she didn't, but still. Her next "thank you" had a question mark at the end.

"Tell me"—Odin finally let his eye wander for a moment before it settled on her again—"what do you think of Loki?"

"I… don't really know him, sir. We… There hasn't been much talking." Hell, there'd been almost zero conversation. The only thing akin to it had happened between his arrival to her place and his delirium. And then, at Stark tower. A little. What she knew about him had come from illusions, flitting pictures, and delirious, broken sentences. If that was a basis for others-claim-it's-a -kind-of-a-relationship, then she really didn't know how things functioned anymore.

"I would sincerely like to hear your answer, child."

"Oh. Of course." No denying the king his request. She scowled as she flipped through her memories. Now was the time to choose words carefully. "I don't… He is very… secretive. Private. He can appreciate… things."

Odin nodded, but he didn't seem sated. Was he waiting for her to say something specific?

"He can be mean. And stubborn, very stubborn. And, he's complicated. Look, I'm sorry, I don't know what you want me to say."

"Had I wanted to hear something in particular, I would have asked differently." His eye narrowed. "There are bits of Loki's magic clinging to you."

"His magic?"

"Aye."

"I wouldn't know." She struggled not to look away, but Odin stared at her, into her mind, into the depths of her soul, and she couldn't bear it.

"I think you do."

But, looking or not, she could still be stubborn. No matter how awe-inspiring the king was, everything she'd read earlier hadn't just evaporated at some point.

"No, I don't." Rebecca tilted her chin upwards just the slightest. "I can only guess."

Odin kept eyeing her. Yeah, she should probably have kept quiet. He was the king, hell, the king of the universe or so, and she was a mortal. This couldn't end well.

Then, a small smile crept onto his face. "You do know how to wield your words."

"Um. Sometimes?"

Odin chuckled, although she wished he hadn't. Two hands were way too much when one didn't know what to do with them. Or, with the eyes.

Then, he was back to serious again.

"Clothes have been left for you." He gestured towards the enormous bed, and true enough, there was a heap of fabric. "I will have Thor sent here."

Rebecca nodded. "Thank you." Whatever for. She eyed his back as the king turned to walk out of the room. A question found itself dangling at the tip of her tongue. She shouldn't say it, she really shouldn't, but she wanted to _know_—

"What have you done to him?"

Odin turned. "Pardon?"

Rebecca swallowed.

"Loki. What have you done to him?"

The Allfather's brow furrowed in displeasure. "We are trying to save his life."

"No. Not that. Before."

This was dangerous territory. It clearly showed on Odin's face; he seemed to be just waiting for her to say more, to go too far.

"You ought to be more specific."

"I can't. I don't really know… I-I am sorry for asking." She bowed her head. "Your majesty."

For one long second, his mouth remained tense. Then, it softened.

"Lady Rebecca," he said before leaving the room.

She sighed. She had absolutely no idea what kind of impression she'd given or what it could mean for the future. Somewhat fed up, she discarded her robe to put on the clothing brought for her. Glancing at the mirror was probably inevitable, and for a while she stood there, naked and still.

Part of the black stains on her back had disappeared.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

There was fire in his body.

Loki could think of no other words to describe the sensation. The heat was unbearable, clawing at his insides like liquid flames. Whatever the mortals had given him against pain had worn out, and he groaned involuntarily.

Moving didn't seem like a good idea. Nevertheless, he forced his eyes open. For a moment, confusion overflowed his brain. Then, realisation sank in.

Asgard.

Thor had dragged him to Asgard, and Loki couldn't tell whether he wanted to scream in rage or breathe a sigh of relief. One thing, however, he knew: he was still alive. If he was to die, it wouldn't be from Thanos's drugs.

His gaze travelled up and down the small room. Recognition came immediately, followed by irritation. He hated this room.

It was too hard to breathe in here.

These walls held too much pain.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

"…_It roared, and clawed at the ground, and its eyes were on me! I was its killer, and the beast knew it!"_

"_Truly," Sif said, eyes wide with admiration. _

_Thor opened his mouth to speak again, but, by then, Loki had reached the little group._

"_Brother!" His hands wrinkled the sheets as he pulled himself onto the bed Thor had been placed on. His green eyes were filled with worry. "Mama said you were hurt!"_

"'_Tis nothing, Loki."_

_The younger prince blinked. He pointed at Thor's bandaged calf. "Doesn't it hurt?"_

"_A true warrior is not afraid of pain," Thor said with such conviction that all the children of Asgard would not be able to do anything but accept it as the universal truth. His friends nodded along._

"_We should give ourselves a name," Fandral suddenly suggested. "Since we just had our first hunt together."_

"_It wasn't your hunt," Loki said quietly. They had only been allowed to trail along. Even Thor, whose hunt it had really been, had only been there to observe and learn._

"_Of course it was." Sif narrowed her eyes disdainfully. _

"_I know!" Fandral exclaimed. "The Mighty Five!"_

_Hogun shook his dark head. "You can't count Thor."_

"_Why can't I?"_

"_He is the prince. The hero of today. It had to be Thor and The Mighty Four."_

_Loki's gaze settled on Thor's bandaged leg. The three boys and the girl rattled on. Loki didn't think much of them. The Fools Three, they should be named. And Sif the Mean. _

_He looked up at Thor. "Aren't you sad you got hurt?" _

_The latter blinked. "I proved I can bear an injury without whining."_

"_Which you have yet to do," Volstagg said. "If you can, at all."_

_Loki pulled his eyebrows together. "Father said I was too young to go hunting."_

"_You will grow, brother._

"_It just might not help," Fandral added, and the group burst out laughing. _

_Tears scorched the back of Loki's eyes, and he clenched his little fingers into fists. He hopped off the bed and ran as fast as he could lest he start crying in their presence. They weren't being fair. It wasn't his fault he was younger than Thor._

_The soles of his boots tapped against the stone floor, and he swiped at his eyes. His lips were pressed together stubbornly. _

_If Thor could do something brave, Loki could, too. He would prove it. He would go hunting game alone and would not return empty handed. _

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Loki stumbled to his feet. Sweat trickled down his temples, his vision swam, and he felt like he was going to throw up the next moment. Every movement, even the slightest twitch of his fingers, made his muscles protest. His heart hammered. There was not enough air to fill his lungs.

But, that was exactly why he had to get out. Leaning heavily on the wall, he dragged his feet across the room towards the door. Pain was making him nauseous to the point he found himself gagging and dry heaving, but he _had_ to get some air, or else he might die from suffocation…

Dark spots dances across his vision. He remembered fire, so much fire, such panic, and fear, and pain, and although the agony had been much less vivid due to the course of time, the memory came crashing back, fire, fire, fire—

And, before he could truly recall everything—

Darkness.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

_He was lost._

_It chafed his pride to admit it, but the fact could be denied no longer. It made Loki want to wail in despair. The short sword at his side, previously a symbol of determined optimism, now hung heavily. The muscles in his legs ached, and his mouth was parched. _

_It had all started well. He'd sneaked out of the city on horseback (even the smallest of horses was a little big for him, but he could manage), armed with a short sword and a bow, with a bag filled with water, bread, and dried meat tied to the saddle. He knew the paths well enough. His archery skills should prove satisfactory, as well. _

_Only, he hadn't been expecting a pack of bilgesnipe to cross his path. A pack of running bilgesnipe. His heart had skipped a beat or two (possibly more), but it was nothing compared to how his mare spooked as the beast came rushing towards them. Loki had dug his knees into the mare's flanks and yanked the reins. He'd managed to get the mare back to all four legs, but he couldn't have kept her from running. The wild gallop had sent fear rushing through his veins. H was too small, too weak; there'd been nothing he could do save hold on for dear life._

_Until—it had been bound to happen sooner or later—sharp pain blossomed in his forehead, followed quickly by a more dull sensation in his back. He'd had just enough time to realise he'd hit a bough with his head before he blacked out. _

_Waking up hadn't been pleasant in the least. Finding out his mare, food, and water were gone, even less so. While at that point he'd still been convinced he could find a path he knew, now, after hours of walking, he knew he was truly lost. Tired. Hungry. Thirsty. Fighting his way through the brushwood was harder than it seemed. Perhaps, he should rest. Just a little. But, he was scared. What if some wild beast attacked him while he slept? What if he never found his way out of the forest again?_

_Twigs scratched his face as he pushed his way through._

_Time passed. It was getting darker. The cold mass of unease inside Loki grew bigger, slowly spreading past the limitations of his chest until he could feel it in every cell of his body. He wanted to go home. He wanted mama, and he wanted to be _home_. _

_At some point, he stopped thinking. His legs moved automatically, the movement only guided by subconsciousness. _

_Then, suddenly, the trees grew sparser and gave way to bushes, but what caught his attention was a fire in the middle of the clearing. That, and dark human shapes around it. _

_His heart skipped a beat. People could help him! _

_Ignoring the unease in his guts, he stumbled through the bushes. He meant to rush to the fire but lost his footing. The world spun momentarily, then he hit the ground. _

_The conversation stopped abruptly. Before Loki could even try to crawl back on his feet, men surrounded him. He couldn't see their faces in the dark, but the tightness in his guts intensified. _

"_I… I'm lost," he stammered. "Could you help me, please?"_

"_Lost, huh?"_

_Rough hands yanked him to his feet. He bit his lip accidentally, causing the copper taste of blood to fill his mouth. And—_

_He smelled blood, too._

_Noticed dark shapes by the fire that were definitely not humanoid._

_Swallowed._

"_Poachers," he murmured. "You have no right to hunt in these forests!"_

"_Nobody will ever know," one of the men replied. His sour breath filled Loki's nostrils, and it was all the boy could do not to retch. He was practically frozen with fear._

"_You… You…" He tried to swallow the knot in his throat. "You don't know who I am. My father will kill you if you hurt me."_

"_Poor little brat. Nobody will find you here. Nobody will ever know."_

_Loki shook his head frantically. They were going to kill him. They…_

"_No." He tried to keep his voice from trembling. "My father will kill you. He's the king."_

_To his surprise, the men only laughed. _

"_The king, you say?"_

_Loki nodded. He didn't understand. _

"_A little liar you are, aren't you?"_

_What?_

"_No," he tried to say, but a hand grabbed him by the front of his tunic and lifted him with ease. He caught the glinting of metal with the corner of his eye. Sick with fear, he started kicking and wiggling in a desperate attempt to get free. It was all for naught. _

_He would never be home again. Never see his family again. _

_Father._

_Thor._

_Mother._

_His eyes slid closed._

_He hoped the poachers died sooner rather than later. Let them freeze in Hel. Or, burn in Surtur's flames. Let them drop dead here and now, so he could escape, so he could live…_

_There was a scream, and Loki's eyes snapped open. The fire, previously burning in the makeshift hearth, had escalated and was still spreading. No, not spreading. Hunting. Going after the men who'd been so confident only moments ago but were now scrambling to get away. They couldn't._

_Loki stared._

_Their screams filled his ears. Their distorted faces filled him with horror. He couldn't move._

_Then, flames licked his feet, and he, too, screamed. He wanted to run, but the inferno raged all around him. There was no way out._

_He'd done this. It had to be his fault, somehow. He'd made the fire come to life without even knowing how, and he had to stop it before he was burnt alive and his precious forests turned to ash…_

_With every ounce of his will, he fought. _

~*oO*o*Oo*~

In the heart of Asgard, a fire raged.

* * *

A/N: Please review ^^

~shades


	27. Chapter 27: How Flirting and Flowers Hav

A/N: Thank you for all the support you've given this story.

* * *

**Chapter XXVII–How Flirting and Flowers Have Nothing in Common**

_There will be time, there will be time__  
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet_

_~T. S. Eliot: The Love-Song of J. Alfred Prufrock_

The gown left for her was dark blue with golden Celtic-knots embroidery and a high collar, awfully hard to get in, but made out of some silky fabric that, once in place, fell beautifully. She braided her hair, cursing when strands kept escaping their ties, then wandered back to the balcony.

The faint scent of flower blossoms reached her nose, ascending from the magnificent gardens below. Rebecca thought she recognised the smell of roses, although she was probably wrong; it was a symphony of scents complementing and fulfilling each other, yet the result was subtle enough it could easily be ignored.

Had Loki spent much time in these gardens? There's been flashes of them involved in the vision he'd created for her, but she had no way of knowing if he'd shown her a general presentation of Asgard, or only his personal aspects of this world.

A knock on the door startled her out of her thoughts. A moment later, Thor strode into the room, and Rebecca wondered why he'd even bothered knocking if he'd simply entered without waiting for a reply, anyway. Acting like he owned the place. Which he probably did. His family, at least.

"Thor," she acknowledged.

"Rebecca. You look lovely."

"Thanks. You look… a little less worried?"

"Aye." He strolled over the room to join her on the balcony. His muscled forearms came to rest on the railing. "'Tis a beautiful view, is it not?"

"Yeah." Rebecca flipped strands of hair out of her face with an abrupt movement of her head. "Could we go down there?"

"We could, but mother would be a much better guide. She loves her gardens. I'm sure she would be happy to take a walk with you. I wished to introduce my friends to you, if that is all right?"

She didn't particularly desire to be paraded around and presented as 'the mortal woman,' but Thor was probably right; Rebecca could hardly imagine him giving her a tour through the gardens. Well, she could, but it would probably be just plain awkward. Thor didn't strike her as a type of man who could take a woman for a stroll without any kind of romantic energies flowing between them. Sure, he had muscles and nice blue eyes, but nothing romantic could be found between them even if one searched with a microscope.

"Yeah." She nodded. "That's okay."

Thor's face lit up a bit. "Splendid. Come, they are waiting for us on the training grounds." The prince offered her his elbow. After a moment of hesitation, Rebecca entwined her arm with his. It was probably a custom in this warrior society, or whatever. Thor had to know what behaviour was best.

He led her down various ridiculously high corridors and halls, an arcade gallery, past small green splotches of nature amid the overabundance of gold. Then, finally, they reached lower corridors, and soon after that, an open area. The soil was treaded down to the point one could hardly leave prints behind, but the ground itself was uneven and littered with rocks that varied in shape just as much as in size.

Thor let go off her and strode towards a group of four people leisurely practicing with swords; probably warming up or something. The only woman, black haired and proud, noticed his presence first, and when she turned, the other three stopped what they were doing, too. Four pairs of eyes landed first on Thor, then, a second later, on Rebecca. Somehow, a sense of familiarity clung to them, though she was absolutely positive she'd never met them before. But, they were just—

"Did you use to be blonde?" she blurted, looking at the woman, and where the hell had that come from?

"_What_?"

There was poison in the word even as narrowed eyes bored into her. And Rebecca knew she fucked up. Badly.

"How do you know that?!" The woman's hands closed around Rebecca's throat before the latter could even blink. "You're just a mortal, what do you know about that?!"

"Noth… I…" Rebecca clawed at the hands holding her. The grip was strong enough to bruise and pressing down on already existing bruises. It was hard to breathe.

"Sif!" Thor's voice boomed. "Let go at once!"

Luckily, the command was obeyed.

Rebecca staggered a little, hands flying to her throat. This was definitely not going well.

"What were you thinking?"

Oh, good, at least Thor was scolding his goddess friend. Who happened to scowl right back.

"Me? You find another mortal girl and drag her here, and she comments on my hair because someone must have told her a truly hilarious story!"

"Sif, nobody told—"

"What the hell are you talking about?!" Rebecca let her hand fall away from her throat. "FYI, Thor is totally faithful to Jane, and the only story I heard that involved you didn't even mention you by name, let alone talk about your hair. But we do have a little something called mythology." And she was pretty sure she'd seen the whole group of Thor's friends as children in that lovely vision of Loki's, but that was better left unsaid. She should have kept quiet in the first place, anyway.

"Mythology?" one of the guys asked.

"Yeah. Although, Sif and Thor are married in our myths, so one can never know what's actually true…"

"Let me introduce you properly," Thor said. It sounded suspiciously like _are you done?_ "This is Lady Rebecca of Midgard. And these are my friends, Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun."

All three men nodded in acknowledgment, so Rebecca found herself returning the gesture. Sif said nothing.

"Sorry for the hair thing," the journalist muttered. "It just kinda slipped off my tongue. Didn't mean to insult you." She certainly hadn't wanted to get choked. Or held by the neck, since the woman hadn't actually been squeezing. Not quite like Loki had done.

Fandral winked at her. "Don't worry, my dear, Sif does that to everyone. It's a sensitive topic."

"And he," Sif spoke, inclining her head towards the blonde, "does _that_ to everyone."

"Only the lovely ladies. And you"—Fandral took Rebecca's hand—"are quite dashing." A saccharine smile appeared on his face.

"Yeah, no." Rebecca pulled her hand away. "Thanks for the compliment, but I'm not going to end up in your bed."

Volstagg whistled loudly at that. Fandral's eyes sparked with approval.

"Now that is called spirit! You were right, Thor, Midgardian women are indeed something!" He laughed. Rebecca rolled her eyes. At least Stark's had been amusing. Was Loki ever like that with women?

As if on cue, an odd sensation spread along the line of her backbone. Not quite pain, no. Not completely pleasant, either. It was a little bit like pins and needles, a little bit like a caress of something hot, a little bit of cold, of something sharp, a little bit of tingling—

And then, it stopped.

"Lady Rebecca?"

She shook herself out of her thoughts. "Sorry, what?"

"How do you like Asgard so far?" Fandral repeated.

She shrugged. "It's nice. Lots of gold. Your sky is awesome, and I'd love to see the gardens."

"Ah, yes, the gardens. Nothing like a stroll in good company." He winked again.

"What place do you like best, then?"

"He likes every place where the ladies are," Hogun chimed in, and yeah, banter was all good, but they'd established by now that Fandral liked to flirt, hadn't they?

"You should see our feasts," Volstagg suggested. "They're magnificent." Now that he mentioned it, she was becoming rather hungry. Skipping breakfast could do that to a person.

"If our dear friend here actually leaves some food for us. Speaking of which, do you remember that time after the Big Hunt in the western forests? Now that…"

Rebecca stared. They plunged right into reminiscing, laughing to each other, gesticulating way more than was necessary, and all in all behaving like she was no longer there at all. Thor seemed to still be aware of her presence, but he obviously thought everything was fine. Right. Awesome.

"So…" She turned to him. "Have you been friends for a long time?"

"Aye. We've been through many an adventure together. Us and Loki."

"Loki? So, you were all friends?" Why did she have a hard time believing Loki would enjoy the company of these… er... guys?

"Well… yes… Kind of."

"Hm."

"What is it?"

"How about Loki's friends? I mean, just his, not mutual."

"Oh." Thor shifted a little. "He didn't really…"

"Have friends," Rebecca finished. Her gaze fell to the ground. That had to suck. She couldn't imagine not having Ashley and Mick in her life. Or, she could imagine, she just wasn't sure how she'd manage to handle everything.

Thor nodded once. "Yes. He's always been very private."

Or lonely.

She was just about to open her mouth, reply already hanging on the tip of her tongue, when a couple of guards came running towards them. Their armours rattled a bit as they moved, grey capes billowing behind them. And who the hell was the helmet designer in Asgard? They needed to fire him.

It wasn't really a surprise that the two men stopped in front of Thor, hastily bowed their heads, hands fisted over their chest, then murmured something that made the prince's face go all serious. He gave a grave nod.

"My friends. I am sorry, but I am needed elsewhere."

He turned on his heel, about to rush away. Rebecca barely managed to grab his wrist.

"Don't you dare leave me here," she hissed quietly. "I know this is about Loki, so don't you dare run away and leave me stuck here."

For a heartbeat, they contemplated each other. Then, Thor suddenly pulled her close, startling an unwilling gasp out of her. He swung Mjolnir around, and the next second, they were flying. Flying! Excitement crackled in Rebecca's veins. She was so thankful right now that she was not afraid of heights. There was still that little fear of slipping from Thor's grasp, but once again she decided she'd simply have to trust he knew what he was doing. They ascended (the view from here was absolutely stunning), then rushed downwards again, towards a different part of the palace. Walls seemed to near so quickly. What if Thor wouldn't be able to stop? What if…

She pressed her eyes shut.

Her feet touched the ground; the impact sent pain through her soles. She barely had time to look again before Thor grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her behind him less gently than she would like. She recognised the way to the 'healing chambers.' Something in her gut tightened.

Thor pushed the doors open with both hands. The first thing Rebecca became aware of was the smell of something burnt. Then, the healers, some hustled together and feverishly murmuring under their breath, the others gathered around a bed. Black stains marred the walls. Soot. Had there been a fire?

"Mother," Thor called. One of the women by the bed turned and beckoned Thor and Rebecca closer.

"What happened?" the prince asked. Rebecca didn't say anything. She was too busy staring at Loki, who was lying on the bed. Sweat glistened on his brow, and he was still deathly pale.

"Loki woke up."

Thor's face lit up like a sun, and it suddenly became a bit easier to breathe.

"But?" Rebecca asked.

"He was unconscious again when Eir found him. He'd tried walking, my foolish boy. But I am now almost certain he'll pull through." Frigga smiled a little.

"And the fire?"

Frigga shook her head. "It must have been unintentional."

Loki's doing, then? Frigga's gaze lingered on the walls for a moment.

"Is he going to be okay?" Thor asked, sitting down on the bed.

"He'll pull through."

Thor nodded. "When I heard you wished to see me… I feared…"

Frigga squeezed her son's hand reassuringly. They shared a moment, the two family members, that seemed almost too private to happen in front of others' eyes; Rebecca averted her gaze.

"You can go now."

"I would stay with Loki, mother."

"If you wish. But should he wake and you upset him, I will tear off your ears."

Rebecca's lips formed the slightest of smiles, although some place behind her breastbone ached. She remembered her own mother, the sharp words and gentle smiles. Sixteen years had passed, and she still missed her and forever would.

Her eyes wandered over the soot-stained stone up to the windows through which light was spilling into the room. The little piece of sky that could be seen from where she was standing had begun to turn a darker shade of purple, still sprinkled with gold.

"Rebecca?"

She twitched just the slightest. "Yeah? I mean, sorry, I didn't catch that."

She was vaguely aware people were staring at her, but Frigga didn't seem mad, so it must have been okay.

"Thor tells me you find our gardens fascinating. Would you care to join me for a walk?"

It wasn't really a question. Rebecca's answer, however, would be the same even if it had been.

"Of course."

"Wonderful. Come, child."

If only there were not so many corridors to walk through before they even reached the gardens…

~*oO*o*Oo*~

"This is… beautiful."

"Thank you, child."

"But how the—er, how do you grow almonds here? Isn't the climate all wrong? These are almonds, are they not?"

She had never seen an almond plant in bloom before. Not in real life, anyway, but it was one of the plants she at least thought she recognised. Her knowledge of botany sucked.

"Magic can be very helpful."

"So, you have a group of women tasked with making exotic plants grow here? And bloom all the time?"

What a job description.

"Not exactly."

"But these are almonds?"

"Flowering almonds, yes. Are you interested in botany?"

Rebecca shook her head. Her braid was slowly becoming undone. "No. 'm not. Just trying to find something around here that I recognise."

"What are you interested in, then?"

She shrugged, not knowing why her hobbies would ever be something the queen of Asgard would desire to know. On the other hand, the reason made no difference.

"I write, mostly about art. 'Cause of my job. I used to play a violin. I stopped."

Why did she keep remembering that?

"I find music to my liking as well."

Seriously, what was the purpose of this walk? She wished they would get to the point already. Then, she spotted small purple blossoms amid green leaves, and something in her memory stirred. She stopped.

"What is this?"

Frigga, gowns swooshing quietly, made a step closer. "Nightshade," she said, looking now at the vine now at Rebecca with a thoughtful expression. "Bittersweet nightshade. The berries are poisonous, though some birds seem to enjoy them. Yet, it symbolized truth."

"Thanks," Rebecca murmured.

"You are welcome. I wonder, though, what made you notice it."

"I think I've seen it before, is all." She ran her hands over the fabric of her dress and tried not to bite her lip yet again. Frigga resumed their previous pace, and the journalist followed obediently. She hated not having a real choice.

"You've met Thor's friends, if I am not mistaken?" Frigga said.

"I have. They're… an interesting group."

Frigga looked at her from the corner of her eye. A smile ghosted over her lips. "Indeed."

"Yes." Rebecca was not expected to say she didn't think much of them, was she? The glint in Frigga's eyes annoyed and amused her at the same time. Hell, these gods always seemed to know something more. At least, the royal couple did. She could totally see where Loki learned the look. Then, she simply blurted,

"What's gonna happen with Loki?"

Frigga sighed. "For what he did, he could theoretically be executed, or, more realistically, banished. But he is still a prince; he will live. Most likely, he'll be sentenced to captivity, and I normally I would support this, but…"

"Yes?"

Frigga shook her head. "Nothing, child."

Worrying her lip (again), Rebecca decided to push her luck a bit. "Are you really a seer?"

The other woman arched her eyebrows. "Indeed, I am."

"And you can't talk about your visions?"

"I cannot."

"Did you See something?"

"I cannot answer this. Tell me, Rebecca, what would you have us do with Loki?"

She blinked. "Me? You're asking _me_? I mean…"

"Indulge an old woman."

She shrugged and blinked again. "I suppose he deserves to be locked up? Look, I don't know. Everyone keeps assuming I know Loki. Well, I don't! I don't know him, I don't know what he's done, or why he's done it! Maybe we have some sort of weird understanding, but that's it! I can't read his mind, I can't tell anyone what to do with him. That's just it."

Frigga closed her eyes for a second. "Of course." She sounded almost resigned. "I thank you for saving his life."

"I didn't…"

"You did," Frigga said with a sense of finality.

Rebecca swallowed the burning urge to ask what exactly it was the woman had Seen, and nodded.

* * *

A/N: Please review ;P

~shades


End file.
